Proximity
by Grissomgal71
Summary: STORY COMPLETE! An accident traps Grissom and Sara at a crime scene. Will the CSIs--and their relationship--survive unscathed? Will the time together draw them closer or push them farther apart? Shades of GS.
1. The Collapse

**Title: Proximity**

**Author: Grissomgal71**

**Category: Angst/Drama**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, still love doing stuff to them, still hoping for a lease or a loan or _something_! grins**

**A/N: A huge thanks to my beta, Grissom, for her help, support, and friendship. Thanks, as well, to Leddy and Jazzfan for their never-ending loyalty and for letting me 'bend their ears' whenever I needed to. You're the best, ladies! I know it's been a while, but I hope everyone enjoys my latest foray into CSI fanfiction! I also just want to take a moment to say that I'm glad everything worked out well over at CBS, after that debacle with the firings. Thank goodness TPTB saw the light and kept _our_ team together. September 23rd isn't that far away now, folks! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 1: The Collapse**

Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle got out of the Denali carrying their field kits and squinting into the orange brightness of the desert sunrise. The mineshaft enclosure leaned crookedly against the side of the rocky slope, seeming like the only sign of human development for miles. It was hard to believe that the dilapidated wooden shed led to vast caverns where hopeful prospectors once hunted precious metals.

Complete focus engaging, Grissom moved purposefully toward the mine opening. Even Sara's long-legged strides couldn't quite keep pace with him, and she had to jog a little to catch up. When she was next to him again, she asked, slightly out of breath, "So, who found this guy, Grissom?"

His eyes remained trained forward on his goal of the wooden entrance as he answered. "A construction worker from a site about a mile away found the body. According to Brass, he had been looking for a quiet place to have breakfast before reporting to work, and he stumbled across this old mine. He noticed that the boards covering the entrance had been pulled off. Then, when he got closer to the opening, he smelled something…unpleasant." He finally turned toward Sara, and they exchanged a knowing glance. "He looked inside, saw the dead guy, and ran back out again. That's when he called the police. So here we are."

They had reached two vehicles parked next to each other—one was the coroner's van and the other was an ambulance. As they came around the side, they saw the coroner's assistant, David Phillips, talking to two young men in EMT uniforms. "Hey, David," Sara greeted.

"Hi, Sara," he replied, smiling shyly at her. He completely ignored Grissom, choosing instead to stare at the brunette object of his not-so-secret admiration.

"So, David, what have we got?" Grissom asked.

David didn't seem to hear the CSI supervisor; he was too busy ogling Sara.

Grissom smiled to himself as he noticed the coroner's distraction. He cleared his throat loudly and tapped the younger man on the shoulder. "David?" he repeated.

David turned, finally realizing that Grissom was also there, right next to Sara. "Oh, sir," he replied, quickly appointing his most respectful tone. "I'm sorry, sir. What did you say?"

"I asked you what our status was."

"Right," David began. "The paramedics were called in, but it really wasn't necessary. The guy was obviously dead. The decomposition isn't that far along, but the telltale odor was quite noticeable. We'll be able to get a more exact TOD when we get him on the autopsy table, but I'd say he's been dead for at least twenty-four hours."

Grissom glanced down at the crisscrossing of shoeprints leading to the mineshaft. Studying them from several different angles, he clicked his flashlight on to illuminate the shadowed areas. Then he squatted down for a closer view, cocking his head curiously. "Hey, fellas?" he called to the two EMTs who were getting back into their rig.

The two men exchanged glances, then climbed out of the cab and walked over to Grissom.

The CSI supervisor stood. "Did you guys leave these tracks?"

They looked down at the sandy ground, then back up at Grissom. "Uh…yes, sir," one of them began. "We walked up to the old mine and then back. We didn't have to go in, since we could see the body from the entrance."

"Thanks guys. You can go now," Grissom told them. "How about you, David?" he inquired, turning toward the coroner. "Where did you walk exactly?"

"I tried to step wherever the EMTs did," David explained. "I stayed behind them. When we got to the shaft, they stopped at the edge and I went in. The dead guy was only about eight feet in, leaning against the right side of the cave. I did my best to hug the walls and stepped over to the guy to pronounce and take a liver temp. Then I went back out the way I came. I tried to step where the others stepped on the way out, too."

"Okay, thanks, David," Grissom said, when the other man finally finished his report. He turned to Sara. "Let's go check out the body."

She nodded at him.

"We'll call you when we're ready, David," Grissom told him, before he and Sara began walking toward the mineshaft.

They both shined their lights onto the ground. "Didn't you want to take sample treads from the EMTs to exclude their shoeprints?" Sara asked.

"We don't need to," he clarified. "Whatever evidence had been on this path has been obliterated."

Looking down at the overlapping indentations, she had to agree.

"But, our dead guy might have entered the mine from a different direction," Grissom pointed out. "So, why don't you take the left and I'll take the right?"

"Sure," Sara answered.

"And make sure to step carefully, Sara. These may be the only clues we get."

"Don't worry, I will."

They each began slowly walking along their assigned side of the path. Sweeping their beams in long, horizontal arcs, they made sure to step down only on clean ground. They had made it almost to the mine entrance when Grissom suddenly announced, "I've got something."

Sara finished her sweep before joining him on the other side. He was hunkered down next to some shoe indentations in the dirt, photographing them.

"What did you find?" she asked him.

"A single set of footprints coming from the south, running directly into this main path and then into the mine."

She watched as he snapped several more pictures. "Do you want me to cast one of the prints?" she inquired, putting down her kit and starting to open it.

"No," he replied.

She was a bit surprised at his answer, and she just stood there, staring at his profile, her mind working.

"It's just a single set," he went on, pretending not to notice her confused silence. "These tracks could belong to the dead man. Let's see what kind of shoes he's wearing before we decided these prints are unknown."

He twisted his head around to look up at her, and she nodded in response, although she was mentally kicking herself for not having been able to follow his logical line of thinking.

Grissom reached into his kit and pulled out a tape measure. Extending it next to one of the shoeprints, he said, "Looks like a…twelve-and-a-half."

"We'll have to see what size shoes our guy is wearing."

He stood up, grabbing his kit, and then they both headed for the wooden entranceway, stepping cautiously. But there were no other discernible prints on the way to the mine opening.

They noticed several wooden planks lying on the ground that had obviously been pried off the entrance to the mine. The wood was old, faded, and dotted with rusty nails. Sara went to pick up a piece, but it practically disintegrated in her hand. "Well, we're not going to get any prints from these," she pointed out unnecessarily.

Grissom nodded in agreement. He bent down to turn over one of the rotted two-by-fours, and saw the hand-lettered sign still attached to it that warned: NO TRESPASSING. "I guess somebody doesn't read," he said, glancing toward Sara.

"I guess not," she replied.

He stood again. "Let's go in."

"Right behind you," she promised as she followed him into the dark passage.

They shined their bright flashlights into the blackness of the cavern. The walls were rough, strewn with rocks and sparkling flecks of metal. There were thick wooden support columns and overhead beams every fifteen feet or so. Cobwebs, along with other evidence of animal and insect life, were everywhere. The air inside was stale, hot, and dense with hanging dust and dirt.

After a visual sweep of the front part of the mine, they turned their beams to the body leaning against the right wall. They both crouched down close to the dead man and moved their lights over him.

He was curled up in a fetal position, his eyes closed. He was an older man—probably in his mid-sixties. His face was unshaven and dirty, and the similarly worn state of his clothing seemed to support the fact that he was most likely homeless. Grissom and Sara's twin circles of illumination danced over the dead man's face, and down his body to the wine bottle clutched between his hands.

"No sign of struggle, no visible injuries," Grissom said. He looked behind them at some shoeprints in the dirt. "A single set of tracks leading right to our dead guy." Shining his light on the man's feet, Grissom took note of the tread pattern. "The shoes he's wearing match the prints in here and outside. And if I had to bet, I would say he's exactly a size twelve-and-a-half. There's no evidence of anyone else being in here in recent memory. It could have been a heart attack or stroke—looks like natural causes."

Sara agreed with him for the moment. "It does seem like he could have just DFO'd. We'll have to wait on Robbins and toxicology to be sure, though."

"Yeah." He checked over the body one more time by flashlight. "Why don't you bag the bottle and then let David know he can come in and get this guy?"

"Sure, Gris," she replied with a small grin. She watched him move a bit further into the cave, his bobbing bulb illuminating some of the dark corners. She knew he was continuing to search because that was what they did. They searched until they found the truth. She had a feeling Grissom wasn't satisfied that this guy "done fell over." He had to be _sure_ there was no foul play involved.

Sara slipped the wine bottle out of the corpse's grip and placed it in a plastic bag, which she sealed and labeled. Then she stepped outside to tell David he could collect the body. As the coroner and two assistants rolled a gurney to the mouth of the mine, Sara followed behind. The three guys began loading up the dead man, and Sara went back into the stuffy interior of the cave, looking for Grissom.

She found him crouched in the middle of the passage, right around the location of the first support column. He was obviously studying some possible piece of evidence that he thought might be related to their case.

"Did you find something?" Sara asked, coming up behind him.

"Maybe. I'm not sure." He stood and they both shined their flashlights onto the very small, sparkly item he held between his fingers. They squinted, trying to make it out in the dimness.

"Why don't you bag it, and we'll look at it out in the light where we can actually _see_," she suggested. "Besides, it's like an oven in here. I need some fresh air."

Grissom was also feeling the effects of the thick, constricting air. The further they moved back into the mine, the hotter it got, and the more difficult it became to breathe. "Yeah, let's get out of here," he agreed. "I didn't see anything else by flashlight, and it's much too dark to do any accurate evidence gathering. If we need to, we can always come back with spotlights."

He took a step toward his kit to grab a bindle for what he had found, but Sara reached out suddenly and grabbed his arm. "What?" he wondered, aiming his flashlight toward her face, and catching a look of unmistakable intensity on her features.

"Did you hear that?" she asked him.

"Hear what?" He cocked his head to try to discern the sound that had caught her attention.

Before she could describe it to him, a distant burst of sound made its way to their ears. It was similar to the rumbling she had heard a moment ago, but noticeably louder. "What _was_ that?" she wondered, a tinge of panic to her voice.

"I don't…" he began, but his words were cut off as a deafening roar suddenly filled the thick air. The floor started quaking beneath their feet, and pebbles and chunks of rock fell from the walls and ceiling of the mine.

As their anxious glances flicked around, trying to process what was happening, a sharp crack sounded directly above their heads. Grissom's eyes and flashlight beam shot upward as he saw the huge support beam overhead starting to give way. There was another earsplitting crack, and he knew the thick beam was about to splinter in two.

Instinctively, he screamed, "Look out!" and pushed Sara roughly out of the way, just as the wood above him broke with one last groan and snap. Huge amounts of dirt and debris poured down on top of Grissom.

Sara slammed into the wall of the passage, the breath forced out of her lungs. As she slid limply to the ground, she could faintly see the curtain of earth and rubble rain down where Grissom had been standing, completely engulfing him and blocking him from her sight. "Grissom," she called weakly, right before everything went totally black.

**To Be Continued…**


	2. Trapped

**A/N: I want to thank everyone for all the great reviews posted for chapter one! I really appreciate the time you took to let me know that you are enjoying this story. It was a wonderful, warm welcome back for me to I thought I'd let you know that this will be a five-chapter fic, and that it is just about complete, although not yet totally typed or edited. So there shouldn't be any major delays between postings. Thanks again to my amazing beta, Grissom! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2: Trapped**

Sara awoke to an odd quiet, though her ears still reverberated with the roar of the mine collapse. Occasional clinks of smaller rocks falling and her own labored breathing were the only sounds she heard. She slowly lifted her head, trying to shake the dirt from her hair and shoulders. She attempted to look around, but it was pitch black—she couldn't even see a foot in front of her face.

She realized that it was hard to breathe, and her lungs and throat burned with each inhalation of air. Panic began to set in as she unconsciously tried to take deeper breaths. She got dizzy and she felt like she might pass out again. Willing herself to stay in control, she managed to slow down her respiration. Discovering that if she took shallower breaths, it was much more comfortable, Sara began to calm down and take stock of the situation.

She sat up carefully, coughing as the movement spread more dust into the already thick air. Besides the pain in her chest, she felt reasonably intact, with no other apparent injuries. But then she shifted, and winced when she felt a sharp twinge in her back. _What was that from?_ she wondered, her thoughts still muddled. _Did something fall on me?_ Then clarity struck and her mind screamed, _Grissom!_ Her heartbeat quickened again, seemingly of its own accord, and she called his name aloud, "Grissom!" He had been right in front of her. _Where was he?_ "Grissom!" she yelled, her voice ringing desperately in the small space.

She shuddered as she remembered the last time she had seen him. He had pushed her out of the way, and then stood there helplessly, being buried as the roof fell down on him. Fear fluttered back to life inside her, and she struggled to keep her mind focused. She thought about Grissom again, and that was enough to force her into an immediate calm. It was up to her to find him and help get them out of there. He hadn't answered her calls, and that meant that he was hurt, and possibly unconscious, or he was awake but couldn't talk for some reason, or he was someplace where he couldn't hear her, or…something much worse that Sara refused to even _consider_ yet.

But she _knew_ he had been close by when the shaft supports collapsed. _I was facing him,_ she remembered, so it made sense to start her search in that direction. But the disorienting darkness didn't allow her to know what direction that had actually _been_.

Her deductive thought processes kicked in. _All right,_ she told herself, _I know my back hit the wall when Grissom pushed me out of the way…He saved me,_ she pondered, getting distracted. _Disaster was about to strike, and he protected me, put my life above his. Does that mean…? No, of course not. It was just instinct. He would have done the same thing if it had been any of our other team members in here with him…wouldn't he?_ She shook her head, knowing she needed to concentrate on the crucial situation at hand.

She felt around until she came in contact with the rough mine wall that had been behind her when she had woken up. She leaned her back against it, and then got on her hands and knees. Using the wall as a reference, she crawled straight ahead slowly, one hand stretching blindly in front of her, searching for something solid. As she made her way along the ground, she felt plenty of debris and dirt all around her. Some of it poked up sharply, and she had to take care to avoid injuring herself.

After it felt like she had crawled for miles, but had probably advanced only a few feet, her outstretched fingers suddenly bumped into something soft. It was actually something soft buried under a layer of dirt, but she was certain she had found Grissom. She began quickly brushing some of the grit off with both hands, but stopped when she felt curly hair beneath her sightless touch. _It _was_ him!_ "Grissom!" Sara called, moving her hand further back on his head; her fingers reached something wet and sticky, and she instantly jerked her hand away. _Oh, God, he's bleeding!_ she realized in silent fear. _A head wound—not good._ She moved her hands downward and found his shoulder, which she squeezed. "Grissom?" she asked tentatively. She gripped his shoulder more tightly, gave him a hard shake, and spoke more firmly, "Grissom! Grissom!"

He remained unresponsive, and Sara's worry escalated. "Come on, Gris, you've _got_ to hear me!" Her hands slid along his arm to his hand, and his fingers were unexpectedly cold in her grasp. An involuntary gasp escaped her throat, and she pulled her fingers back from his. _No, no, no!_ she thought. _He can't be…Grissom can't be…_ She wouldn't even allow herself to _think_ the word that hung ominously in her mind.

She was terrified, but at the same time, she _had_ to know. She just _had_ to know for certain. So she reached out again, finding his limp hand. She squeezed his fingers tightly, still getting no reaction from him, and took a deep breath. Then, she slid her fingertips forward, feeling for the inside of his wrist. Her eyes closed reflexively, even though it was too dark to see anything, as she searched for his pulse. She felt like she was going to pass out again, this time in utter relief, when she located the spot that jumped slightly with each beat of his heart. His pulse was a bit weak and thready, but it was there, it was definitely _there_. "Thank God," Sara breathed. Now that she knew Grissom was still with her, she realized she had to find out just how dire a situation they were in. She didn't even know the condition of the cave or if there was a way out. Thinking back, she tried to recall where their flashlights might have landed.

Feeling around, she tried to locate the lights, hoping at least one of them had survived intact. After a few minutes, she got lucky and stumbled upon one of their Maglites, partially buried under a mound of earth. She twisted the end and a beam of light flooded the small space, reflecting off the bits of dust floating in the air.

She immediately directed the beam toward Grissom's still form, and the sight that greeted her was both shocking and scary. The right side of his body was half-buried in a pile of dirt and debris that had been shaken loose by the mine collapse; a thick chunk of the wooden beam that had been above his head was now lying across his back and shoulders, essentially pinning him to the ground.

From where Sara was still kneeling on the mine floor, she couldn't tell how heavy the beam might be, but she was almost certain she wouldn't be able to lift it alone. In spite of that, she stood and moved closer to him, planning to do what she could to help him.

As Sara got a better look at Grissom, she grimaced. The gash she had felt earlier on the left side of his head was pretty nasty, still oozing blood at an alarming rate. The red stickiness had covered his face, neck, and shoulder on its gravity-driven path to the ground. _Why do head wounds have to bleed so much?_ she thought with a shiver. She knew the biological reason behind the profusion of blood on Grissom, but that didn't help quell the concern coursing through her.

Sara came up next to him, placing the flashlight on the ground and aiming it to illuminate the area as much as possible. She didn't know how badly Grissom was hurt, and if she should even risk trying to free or move him, but she figured that the heavy weight across his back could only be causing him further injury. So she decided to try and lift it. Crouching down and getting a solid grip on the wood, Sara attempted to stand and lift the beam with her. She surprised herself by raising it a few inches. It was not as heavy as it appeared, most likely because its density had been reduced by age, along with water and inevitable insect damage.

Gritting her teeth, Sara kept her grip on the wood and strained to move it a bit higher so she could heave it off Grissom's back. But she couldn't do it; she couldn't even shift the chunk of beam to either side enough to make a difference. Her hold on the splintery wood was starting to slip, and she had no choice but to lower it back down onto Grissom. She did it as gently as she could, so it wouldn't fall with any force and hurt him even more.

It was helpful that she had discovered that she could lift the wood up off him, but she needed both hands to do it. Unfortunately, that meant that Grissom would have to be able to pull himself out from under the debris, and he still showed no signs of waking up yet.

Maybe none of it would make a difference because they would be rescued before she had to worry about releasing him. She knew that others must be _aware_ that they were trapped in the mine. David and his assistants had been right outside when it happened. And Brass knew where they were, too. Sara could only assume that they were working hard to get them out of there as quickly as possible.

Taking a step back and reaching for the flashlight, Sara thought she saw Grissom's outstretched fingers twitch. She wondered if the change in pressure on his back as she had tried to remove the chunk of wood had roused him. She hoped so—she was becoming increasingly concerned about the length of time he had been unconscious. Kneeling next to him, and touching his hand so he could feel her presence, she called his name, "Grissom? Can you hear me?" After getting no further response from him, she let out a slow breath and stood, trying to keep the worry building inside her from boiling over and making her totally useless.

Attempting to think practically, she picked up the flashlight and took a good look around. She sighed when she realized that they weren't going to be able to get out the way they had come in—not without a _lot_ of digging. The entire entrance to the mine had caved in; the opening was now completely blocked by huge mounds of earth and rock.

Swinging the light around, Sara looked toward the passageway she had seen veering off to the left from the main alcove. That gap, too, was now inaccessible. They were trapped in the space between the entrance and the rocky wall that Sara had hit when Grissom had pushed her out of danger.

She was certain that Brass and the LVPD and their team were trying to find a way to get to them. But Sara wished she knew more about what they were planning, and when a rescue might be attempted. She really wanted to let the others know that Grissom was hurt—possibly badly—and that time could become a crucial factor. She thought about her cell phone, wondering why it hadn't occurred to her sooner. Knowing the chances of getting a signal inside the mine were slim, she figured it was worth a shot anyway.

But when she reached for the phone, clipped as usual to the side of her waistband, she knew it would be a futile effort. Before she even brought the phone around so she could see it, she realized it was broken. It must have been smashed when she had hit the wall earlier. She made a face at the remains of her cell phone. The cover had come loose, and a couple of the circuit boards were sticking out through the cracks. She made an annoyed sound, and tossed the useless piece of technology onto the ground.

Exhaling in frustration, Sara sank down against the wall and swiped at the sweat dripping down her face. The oppressive heat had become unbearable, so she stripped down to her tank top, tossing her unneeded jacket and shirt onto the ground. She glanced around one more time, her flashlight beam stopping on Grissom. "Hang on, Gris," she said out loud to him. "I know they'll be coming to get us soon. Just hang on."

She stared at him a moment longer, willing him to move or wake up so she could assure herself that he was all right. But he remained still. Knowing she had to conserve the batteries, Sara reluctantly turned the flashlight off, plunging the mine into darkness once again.

**To Be Continued…**


	3. Coming Around

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews so far! I appreciate the support. I hope everyone likes this chapter enough to add a few more new reviews. Thanks again to my great beta, Grissom! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 3: Coming Around**

Soft groaning reached her ears and Sara's eyes snapped open. She couldn't believe she had actually fallen asleep in the hot interior of the cave, though she knew it couldn't have been for very long. She heard the groans again, and realized that it was Grissom. Before she could do or say anything, he called her name, "Sara?"

She was shocked by how weak and anguished he sounded.

"Sara?" he tried again, his voice tightening and rising in obvious panic.

"Right here, Gris!" she answered quickly, hoping to keep him calm. "Don't try to move. I'm coming to you!"

She flicked on the flashlight, pointing it toward him, but trying to avoid shining it directly into his eyes. She knelt down near his head so that she was in his line of vision, and touched his left hand. "I'm here," she assured him.

"Are you all right?" he asked hoarsely.

She smiled at him, pleasantly surprised that his first thoughts would be of her. "I'm fine. And I'm gonna get you out of there," she promised. "Just don't move around too much yet, okay?"

"What happened?" he moaned. "My head…"

"I know, Gris, I know," she sympathized. "Just lie still for me."

He couldn't do much else, so he tried not to move as she circled around him, checking things out by the beam of the flashlight. She came back to face him. "Okay, Grissom, listen to me," she began. "Does anything else hurt besides your head?"

He wasn't expecting that question, and he tried to think about it, but the pain in his head was worsening in an excruciating crescendo. The throbbing seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body, and he couldn't concentrate; he felt his grip on consciousness slipping. Horrible, insistent nausea flooded through him, and he just wanted to give into the comforting blackness so all the pain would stop.

Sara saw his eyes start to close, and she reached down and grabbed his arm, tugging firmly. "Stay with me, Grissom!" she demanded. "You hear me? Open your eyes!"

He fought to do so, trying as hard as he could to throw off the impending darkness.

He vaguely felt Sara shaking his shoulder as she kept yelling, "Grissom! I need you here with me! You have to hang on!"

Finally, with an almost impossible effort, he kept his tentative hold on awareness. He opened his eyes again, and all his sensory inputs returned in one sudden, bright burst; it was like what used to happen before his surgery when his hearing would go out.

Sara crouched down and picked up his hand. "Gris? You with me now?" she asked, her voice soft and concerned.

He moved his head a little, trying to nod. "Yeah."

"Can you tell me what else hurts?" she inquired gently.

"My back," he replied, obvious pain in his voice. "There's something heavy…"

"Yeah, you're trapped under a piece of the support beam," she said. "I'm going to get you out, just bear with me a little longer." She squeezed his hand and placed it back on the ground. Then she walked behind him again. "Can you move your legs at all?"

He focused, and attempted to shift them a bit. "I think so."

Sara watched as he lifted his feet. "Good," she commented. "I can lift this off you, but I need both hands," she explained, getting a grip on the edge of the wood. "You're going to have to pull yourself out from underneath. Do you think you can do it?"

Grissom considered for a moment, still assessing the condition of his limbs and muscles. "I guess I'll have to."

"Ready?"

"Ready," he replied, trying to sound like he meant it.

"Okay." She bent her legs, lifted the beam as high as she could, and held it there.

As soon as Grissom felt the weight rise off his back, he dragged himself forward. He pushed with his legs as he reached out and pulled with his left arm. As he started inching ahead, he realized that his right arm was wedged underneath his torso. He tried to yank his arm out, but it was completely numb and wouldn't respond to his mental instructions. So he continued hauling himself free using just his other arm.

The instant Grissom's legs were clear, Sara dropped the large piece of wood onto the mine floor. It thudded loudly, causing a small shower of dirt and pebbles to rain from the ceiling. Both Grissom and Sara covered their heads until the debris stopped falling. The disturbance made Sara realize that the mine might not be completely stable and maybe that was why Brass and the others hadn't come to get them yet.

The added dust being kicked up caused Grissom to start coughing. He pushed himself into a sitting position, and as he got upright, the nausea hit him with a vengeance. "Sara…" he began weakly. But he couldn't finish the sentence. He lunged to the side of the cave just in time for his stomach to force out the remains of his last meal. He hadn't eaten for several hours, so there wasn't much to come back up. Unfortunately, that meant that he was seized with several bouts of dry heaves as his completely empty stomach continued to spasm painfully.

Sara went over to him, wanting to help in some way. She wanted to offer him some comfort, but she was afraid to touch him without knowing the extent and locations of his injuries. "Grissom," she asked in a small voice, "are you okay?" She knew it was an incredibly stupid question, and she knew that he _wasn't_ okay. _A head injury plus vomiting equals a concussion,_ she thought grimly. That didn't surprise her at all, based on the gash she had seen on his head, but it worried her even more.

Once Grissom's stomach had settled down, he coughed one more time, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Then he turned toward Sara and started to get off his knees.

"Whoa," she said, gently touching his shoulder. "I'm not sure you should be standing up right now. Why don't you sit here for a minute?"

He nodded wearily, leaning against the rough wall. But as soon as his back made contact with the rocky surface, he winced and sat forward again.

"What is it?" she asked.

She stretched over to pick up the flashlight, and then tipped him carefully forward. "Let me see," she said. She lifted up his jacket and shirt at the collar, and shined the light onto the skin underneath. Grimacing at the crisscrossing of cuts and bruises, she sucked in an audible breath before she could stop herself. "Your back is all torn up, Grissom," she told him shakily. She carefully leaned him back, and looked into his eyes. "How do you feel otherwise?"

"Dizzy, nauseous, my head is throbbing," he answered quietly. "My chest hurts, and it's hard to breathe."

"I know. It's the air in here. We seem to be cut off from all fresh oxygen, but I think we'll be okay for a while." She frowned as she noticed the way he was holding his right arm—immobile, close to his body. "What's wrong with your arm?" she asked.

He shook his head. "It was underneath me before. It was numb and I couldn't move it. Now it's starting to tingle as the blood flows back in, but it still doesn't seem to want to move much."

"Does it hurt?"

"I can't tell yet. I have a feeling it will."

"Try to move it," she suggested.

He did, gingerly, and his face immediately contorted in agony. Sara could tell he was trying not to cry out, and she watched as his face went a shade paler than it already was. He held his arm tightly against his stomach again.

"You can't move it at all?" she inquired with concern.

He shook his head again, a solemn expression on his face.

"It might be broken," she continued. "I'm going to have to take a look. I promise I'll be gentle."

She started with his uninjured arm, helping him pull it out of his jacket sleeve. Then she moved the material around his back, surprised at how dirty and ripped it had gotten. As carefully as she could, she slid the jacket off his right arm, trying not to jostle it. She dropped the tattered piece of clothing off to the side, and turned her attention to his arm.

She definitely didn't like what she saw; his forearm was swollen to what seemed like twice its normal size, and there was already noticeable bruising. An angry red splotch in the center of his arm was quickly turning purple, and was surrounded by fainter lines of bruises. "This doesn't look good, Gris," she told him. "I'm pretty sure it's broken. She glanced around the dusty cave, biting her lip. "We don't even have anything to put on it to bring the swelling down."

She met his eyes, which were unfocused and filled with hazy pain. "We should at least splint it or put it in some kind of sling, though." Examining their surroundings again, she noticed that their field kits were near the far wall and appeared intact. "Come on, let's move over there," she suggested, helping him up. Leaning on Sara, he half-crawled, half- limped to the other side of the cave. She sat him down in what she hoped was a comfortable position for him, and decided to check him out more carefully.

Sara shined the flashlight on his head wound, prodding with her fingers a little, but trying hard not to touch his scalp too close to the gash. She couldn't help but make a face as she got a well-lit look at the rather gruesome injury; it looked very serious to her. "This is really deep," she said, keeping her voice even, wanting to inform him, but not alarm him. "You're going to need stitches or staples to close this up." _If it's not too late,_ she added to herself, choosing not to say it out loud. She knew if too much time passed before he was treated, the doctors wouldn't be able to close up Grissom's wound properly. _But at least the bleeding seems to have stopped,_ she thought as she continued examining his head.

Then she moved the light to his cheek. The entire left side of his face, including his beard, was caked with an unpleasant mixture of drying blood, dirt, and sweat—the unappealing combination was all over his neck, too. She tried rubbing her fingers over his cheek, but the messy stains remained, and she wished she had something to clean him up with. Sara remembered she had a bottle of water in her kit, but she knew that it was more important to save it for drinking, since they didn't know how long they would be stuck in there.

She noticed how heavily Grissom was sweating, and she wondered what she should do. It was stifling in the mine, but Sara also realized that Grissom was most likely in shock. She wasn't sure whether she was supposed to keep him warm or cool him off. She decided the best course of action was probably to keep him as cool as possible.

Unfortunately there wasn't much she could do in that area. His jacket was already gone, and when Sara had checked his back earlier, she had seen that he wasn't wearing any kind of t-shirt under his black button-down. So he couldn't take his shirt off, but it was short-sleeved and it looked like he had ripped off the top button or two when he had dragged himself free of the beam, so his neck and chest were somewhat exposed as a result; she figured he was as ventilated as he could possibly get, even though it might not seem that way.

"Let's take care of that arm," she said. There wasn't much in their field kits that would make a decent sling, she knew, but she began rummaging through hers nevertheless. _Tubing might work,_ she considered, then realized that it might dig into his skin painfully. Her eyes left the interior of her kit and fell on her discarded jacket. _Ah, perfect!_ she thought in satisfaction.

She laid her jacket flat on the ground, first fastening all the buttons, then rolling up the middle portion. She gently placed the bundled-up material around his right forearm and brought the sleeves up around his neck—one in front and one in back. She tied the sleeves into a knot behind his head, adjusting them so that his arm hung at a comfortable height.

"There you go," she announced, obviously pleased with her efforts. "And I wasn't even a Girl Scout…I could never deal with the pressure of selling all those cookies." She smiled at her attempt at humor, hoping to get a similar reaction from him. But it didn't work. His expression remained dazed and emotionless. Her brow knitted as she shook him a little. "Grissom, you still with me?"

"What?" he replied. "Oh, yeah." His eyes cleared and met hers.

She took in his gaze; his eyes looked so dark in the dim mine interior—more midnight sky than their usual bright cobalt—but she could see the obvious agony behind them that he was trying to hide. Seeing his pain so clearly before her just made her feel more protective of him, and more determined than ever to get them out of there.

Moving the light from him back to her kit, Sara continued digging around. She pulled out the bottle of water she almost always kept inside, and then something small on the very bottom caught her eye. She reached down and grasped it with two fingers. "I forgot about this," she said out loud, holding the foil two-pack of Tylenol in the beam of her flashlight. Taking one last look in her kit, she found a second packet of Tylenol jammed into a corner. _It's not gonna do much for him, but it'll help a little,_ she told herself. _It's better than nothing._

Sara put down the Maglite, then placed both her hands on Grissom's face, making him look her in the eye; she wanted to be sure she had his full attention. "I've got some Tylenol here that I want you to take," she told him. "I know you're probably still nauseous, but I need you to try to keep these down, okay, Gris? We don't have too many pills here to replace them if you don't, and you need something for the pain." She moved her thumbs gently along his cheekbones. "Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed quietly.

She tore open one of the packets, and pressed the pair of capsules into his palm. "Here you go." She cracked open the bottle of water and handed it to him.

Grissom swallowed the pills with a tentative sip of water. He gagged as his queasy stomach tried to bring both the small amount of liquid and the Tylenol back up. He breathed through the intense nausea, and was barely able to keep it all down.

"Good," Sara said, nodding. She stared into his eyes, her own reflecting the deep concern and responsibility she felt for him, and brushed her hand through the sweat-drenched curls on the side of his head. "Now, I want you to take another sip of the water."

His uneasy stomach flipped around at that thought. "That's not such a good idea, Sara," he told her, his voice shaky.

"Please try," she implored.

He exhaled deeply, and then lifted the bottle to his lips again. His stomach churned and protested, but he somehow kept the water down.

"One more."

He didn't argue again; he just took another swig from the bottle. He very nearly threw everything up this time, but he focused on breathing slowly, and the sensation finally grew less acute.

"Okay," she said, taking the bottle from his hand. "That's enough for now." She carefully screwed the cap back on, unconsciously licking her dry lips. She was very tempted to take a gulp of the water herself; her mouth and throat were parched, and she felt the beginnings of a strong thirst.

Resisting the urge to swallow large mouthfuls of the water, Sara placed it back in her field kit, latching the top and moving it next to her within easy reach. She would wait to sate her own thirst, since she knew that Grissom needed the water more than she did right now. They only had the one bottle, and she still had no idea how much longer they would be stuck in there. Between the sweating and the vomiting, she didn't want Grissom to get too dehydrated. She realized he needed more than just water, but that was all they had, and it was better than nothing.

Sara leaned against one of the less bumpy walls, and shifted around, finding a somewhat comfortable position. She reached over, picked up their discarded clothing, and wadded it up behind her, creating a softer backrest. She looked over at Grissom and shrugged. "I figured we should get comfortable for now," she suggested. "We don't know how much longer we'll be in here."

She watched as he moved around against the wall, but it seemed that every position he attempted hurt either his back or his arm. She could tell by his expression that he was in a great deal of pain, but she knew he wouldn't say anything or complain. As he kept changing the angle at which he sat against the wall, growing more exhausted and frustrated, Sara couldn't help but be a little amused by his plight. She turned the other way so he wouldn't see her chuckle. It suddenly entered her mind that they were in a very serious situation, but that just made her laugh harder; she realized it was just her way of dealing with the stress.

Once Sara composed herself enough, she faced Grissom again. "Why don't you come over here and lean on me, Grissom?" she asked, not knowing how he would react.

He glanced at her with his eyes narrowed.

She returned his suspicious look with a small grin. "Trust me, I'm a lot softer than the walls, but suit yourself."

He sighed wearily, but he dragged himself over to where Sara was sitting. He situated himself against her, his head ending up against her left shoulder and his body stretching out on a slight diagonal so he could rest his bandaged arm across his abdomen. Sara slipped an arm around him comfortably, taking care to avoid his injuries. "Is that better?" she asked.

"Much," he said. He exhaled deeply, and some of the stress evaporated from his battered body. "Thanks, Sara."

"My pleasure," she responded, trying not to sound overly inappropriate, but she had to admit that the feeling of him lying against her was rather enjoyable. She was glad he was somewhat comfortable now in spite of his injuries, but she didn't want him to become _too_ relaxed. She struggled to remember what the best treatment for someone with a concussion was.

It used to be that the person needed to be kept awake for something like twenty-four hours after the injury; but now Sara thought doctors recommended just waking the person up every couple of hours. If it became difficult to awaken them, then it signified a more serious problem, and the person needed to get medical attention immediately. Sara was unsure, and she wished she knew more about first aid. She still wanted to do what was best for Grissom, and she thought, for now, trying to keep him awake might be the safest alternative.

Her first thought was to get him talking. Hopefully that would help keep them _both_ awake. Sitting there, if felt to Sara like the air had become even more thick and oppressive. It was making her very drowsy, and she was certain it must be having the same effect on Grissom. She realized that whatever they discussed would also have to be stimulating to her or she was in danger of falling asleep herself. And if that happened, she wouldn't be able to watch over Grissom. So she began by bringing up a subject that both of them could never get enough of—work.

"Hey, Grissom?"

"What?" he mumbled.

She could hear the sleepy edge to his voice, and she realized she had to work quickly. "So how did that case you were working with Nick turn out?"

"The one from yesterday?" he asked, sounding a bit more alert.

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her gesture from his current position. "Dead guy in a hotel room, right? Where was it, the Flamingo?"

"Yeah, fourteenth floor. 'Murder Central.' But it wasn't murder."

"No?"

She felt him shake his head. "The guy killed himself. It was suicide."

"Didn't he get shot in the back?" Sara wondered, intrigued by the whole situation.

"Yes, he did," Grissom explained. "But that's not what killed him. It turned out that he was poisoned. We found evidence of cyanide in his glass."

"He poisoned himself?"

"Yes."

"How did you know?" she persisted, trying to keep him actively engaged in the conversation.

He exhaled tiredly, and his voice got much weaker as he answered, "It's a long story, Sara."

"We've got the time, Grissom," she said with a grin, even though he couldn't see her expression.

"Why don't you tell me about your case with Catherine?" he asked, turning the tables on her.

Sara could tell his energy was becoming depleted. He was obviously miserable from the pain and the heat and the discomfort of their whole situation. She realized he was no longer in the mood for talking, so she took over. She related the details of the case she and Catherine had gotten the day before. It had been tough and confusing, and they hadn't found the key piece of evidence until this morning. They had wrapped up the case at the start of their double shift. Sara had had a chance to go home and get some rest then. The shift tonight had been easy for her, and she had been just about to go home when she was paged to accompany Grissom on this call at the mine.

When Sara paused in relating the outcome of her and Catherine's case, she could sense, rather than see, that Grissom had either fallen asleep or was very close. "Gris?" she called, waiting for an answer.

"Hey, Gris?" she repeated when no sound came from him.

She heard him mutter something unintelligible.

"Grissom, wake up!" she ordered loudly, shaking him.

"What?" he got out. Then he became even more alert as she shook him again. "What is it, Sara?"

He sounded a bit annoyed, and she didn't blame him. She knew he was hurt and beyond exhaustion, but she was just trying to look out for him. Uncertain of whether explaining her motivation to him would make any difference, she chose to just urge him to stay awake a little longer. "I was talking," she said, adding what she hoped was just the right touch of indignation to her voice.

"Sorry," he replied softly. "I'm just tired, and everything hurts. I didn't mean to be rude."

She had gone too far, and she felt awful; she hadn't meant to make him feel guilty. None of this was his fault. "I know, Grissom," she assured him gently. "You weren't being rude at all. I was just hoping you would stay awake and keep me company. I'm starting to get a little worried about the fact that no one has come to get us yet. Talking makes me feel…safer."

"Aren't you tired?" he asked. "The heat in here could probably knock out an elephant."

"Not really," she lied. She felt and heard him sigh deeply.

"All right, I'll try to stay awake. Do you still want to talk?"

She thought for a second, and then smiled as an idea hit her. "Why don't we play a game?"

"A game?" he echoed, sounding more than a little reluctant and wary. "What kind of game?"

"A word game," she suggested.

He had been half-afraid that she was going to suggest something insipid like 'Twenty Questions' or 'I Spy.' So he definitely perked up at her idea of a game he could actually use his brain for, even though he knew he wasn't in his sharpest form right now. "What kind of word game?" he pressed, still not totally convinced.

"Well…" Sara realized she hadn't thought the whole thing through. She knew he'd want to play something that involved thinking, but she hadn't come up with an exact idea yet. She thought about his love of crossword puzzles, but they obviously couldn't attempt any kind of game that required writing, or a pen and paper. "How about an anagram game? We can take a long word and see how many shorter words we can make out of the letters." She realized that this type of game was often played on paper, but she figured they could keep track of the letters in their heads.

"I think I'm up for that," he said. "What word should we use?"

She considered for a moment. "Why don't we try 'DNA'?"

He wished he could easily move enough to look at her as he replied, "'DNA' has only three letters, Sara."

She let out an exasperated huff. "Not the _abbreviation_ DNA, Grissom, but the actual words it stands for: 'deoxyribonucleic acid.'"

"Oh," he said, feeling slightly foolish. "Good choice, Sara. Let's try it." Actually, 'deoxyribonucleic acid' was a little more than he had bargained for, given the intense pain he was in and the fact that he was completely drained. But he was willing to attempt the game if Sara wanted him to. And he certainly wasn't going to just sit back and let her win.

"Great, you go first," she said. "Let's start with three-letter words."

Grissom came up with 'cub,' and Sara chose 'ace' for their first time out. Then he formed 'box' and she got 'rub.' The back-and-forth parry of three-letter words continued until they couldn't think of any more; they progressed to four-letter words, then five-letter configurations, six-letters, and so on. Grissom was finally declared the winner after he formed the word 'inexorable.'

Sara was pleased about how the game had held Grissom's interest for so long. She was about to suggest another long word they could use for the next round when she realized that Grissom's posture against her had changed. She could tell by how relaxed his body felt that he had fallen asleep. "Grissom?" she whispered. "Gris?" There was no answer from him, and she could picture his closed eyes, and the smoothness of his face, the creases of pain disappearing as slumber overtook him.

Sara decided to let him sleep—for a little while anyway. He needed it, and she would be right there, wide awake, to make sure he was all right. As long as she woke him within an hour or two, she thought some rest wouldn't hurt him.

She pulled him more tightly against her, even though it was much too hot for such proximity. Wrapping her arm more securely around him, still avoiding his back and broken limb, she rubbed her cheek against his hair, enjoying how the curls tickled her skin. He didn't stir or make a sound, so she knew he must be sleeping pretty deeply.

Even as he slept, Sara was still worried about his injuries; she held him closely, wanting to believe that she was protecting him, but, in reality, she knew he was making _her_ feel safer. Just feeling him breathe in and out and his heart beating made her feel more secure and confident that they would be all right. She knew the others would be coming for them, and she tried to convince herself that it would be any minute.

She closed her eyes briefly, relishing the feel of Grissom lying against her. The sensation of holding him was just as Sara had imagined in her dreams, even though the events that had led up to where they were now were much more like a nightmare.

She hoped she could keep him safe until they were rescued; she felt like it was up to her, but she was full of fear and uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm her. Pushing these emotions far down, she found calm as she listened to Grissom's deep, rhythmic breathing, and matched the controlled cadence with her own. She immediately felt better, shifted him comfortably against her once more, and then clicked off the flashlight to save the batteries. Sitting in the dark, she reminded herself that she needed to stay awake. Once she felt alert and ready, she settled in for a wait. "We're okay, we're still okay," she promised the slumbering Grissom, her voice echoing in the blackness.

**To Be Continued…**


	4. Breaking Through

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out there. It needed some rewrites that my valiant beta, Grissom, had to look over. I want to thank her again for her above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty work on this chapter! I really appreciate the double-beta-ing you did on this one, and your great idea for the part I was stuck on. You are truly the best, Gris! (grins) Thanks a million for all the reviews on this story so far, everyone! I hope you enjoy chapter 4!**

**Chapter 4: Breaking Through**

Grissom suddenly gasped in the darkness and jerked his head off Sara's shoulder; she could feel his heart racing, threatening to jump out of his chest. "Grissom, what is it?" she asked worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"Sara?" he replied unsteadily.

He sounded scared, and a queasy sensation settled deep in Sara's stomach. "I'm right here, Grissom. What's the matter, huh? Is it your head?" She reached up and swiped a hand across his forehead and through his hair, frowning in concern at the amount of sweat pouring off him. It _was_ very hot in there, but Grissom was completely drenched.

"What happened, Sara?" he asked. "Why is it so dark?"

His confusion made her sit up straight, instantly alert. "Grissom, don't you remember? We're still in the mine."

"Mine?"

_Oh, God, this isn't good,_ she thought to herself, trying not to totally lose it. "Yes, in the mine. We were looking at a body and then the whole place collapsed. Don't you remember any of it?"

There was a long moment of silence before he stammered, "I'm…not sure."

She turned the flashlight back on. "Grissom, look at me," she said. She helped him sit up and he shifted around painfully to meet her gaze. The blankness she saw in his eyes was frightening. "Gris, don't you remember the accident at all?" she asked, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "The cave started rumbling and coming down on top of us?" she prompted.

He started nodding slowly, but then shook his head, his brow furrowing. "No," he began softly. "I…I can't remember…"

"It's okay," she reassured him, sensing the panic rising within him.

"It's not…" he began hesitantly. "I can't seem to remember any of it, Sara."

She was definitely worried, but she tried not to show it. "It's all right, Grissom. You took a pretty hard shot to the head. I'm sure that's why your memory is fuzzy. I'll tell you what happened…if you want me to."

He nodded again. "Yeah, please tell me, Sara."

He was almost pleading, and the desperation and fear she felt emanating from him almost made her cry; the uneasiness in her stomach increased tenfold. She could sense how scared he was at the realization of the missing memories, and how much he _needed _to know what had happened to them. "It's okay, Grissom, I'll tell you," she promised. The sense of responsibility for him and his well-being almost overwhelmed her again, but she embraced it this time, accepting what she had to do and rising to the occasion.

"Well, we came into the mine and we were looking around." His eyes, staring anxiously into hers, told her that he remembered that part. "Then there was this loud rumbling. The support beam over our heads started to collapse, and you pushed me out of the way before everything came down on top of you." She was still touched by his act of selflessness, but she kept her tone matter-of-fact as she reminded him of the events that had led up to their present circumstances.

"You woke up," Sara continued, "and you were trapped under a pile of debris. I lifted the piece of the beam that was lying across your back and you pulled yourself clear. We talked for a while, and then…"

"I fell asleep," he finished. He was glad at least _some _of the memories were still there. There was no question in his mind about their current situation and the fact that they were stuck in the mine for the time being. He ran a hand over his face. "Any progress in getting us out of here?"

"Nothing yet," she told him reluctantly.

"How long have we been in here?"

She glanced at her watch in the light. "I guess about three hours."

He nodded, closed his eyes and rubbed them.

She couldn't help but smile in his direction. "By the way, thank you," she said.

He looked at her again. "For what?"

"For saving my life."

It was extremely awkward for him, not recollecting any of what she was thanking him for. She had told him what had occurred, but to Grissom it felt like what she had described had happened to someone else, to a complete stranger. Finally he answered, "I'm glad you weren't hurt," and managed a half-grin for her. But his expression rapidly changed into an uncomfortable grimace. "Sara…" he groaned. Before she could even ask him what was wrong, he went on, "I think…I'm going to be sick again." Unfortunately, the memory of the first time he had vomited was still clear.

Sara quickly took his shoulder and gently turned him in the opposite direction. "Here, face this way, Gris," she suggested. "You can lean on your good arm"

He followed her lead and slouched there, staring at the ground and waiting for his stomach to rebel again.

Wanting to touch him in some way, Sara carefully avoided his various injuries, choosing to gently stroke the back of his head and his shoulder. She hoped he would find the repetitive motions calming and comforting.

The nausea peaked, and Grissom tried to breathe through it. He tasted the sour bile rising in the back of his throat, but he stubbornly fought to keep it down. Finally, after what seemed like a long time, the feeling faded and he slowly sat up.

"Are you okay?" Sara asked softly, feeling him shift.

He nodded. "I think it's passing."

"Good." She got back into her previous position, arranging their clothes behind her again.

Following her lead, Grissom leaned against her, getting as comfortable as possible. They sat there silently for several minutes.

"Are you awake, Gris?" Sara finally asked, her voice low.

"Yeah," he answered.

"I'm sure they're coming to get us."

"Of course they are. They know we're in here."

"I wonder why it's taking so long, though?" she wondered, seeking a logical reason from the always analytical Grissom.

"I'm sure they're doing their best, Sara. It might be difficult for them to break through, or maybe they're afraid the rest of the structure could collapse."

She glanced uneasily up at the overhead supports. They appeared stable, but she knew how they looked could be deceiving.

"We'll get out, Sara," he promised her. "And it'll be soon."

She smiled at the way he was reassuring her; _she_ was supposed to be protecting him here—_she_ was supposed to be the strong one right now. "Thanks, Grissom. I'll try to remember that."

"You know, Sara, this place reminds me of this little cave I found when I was a kid."

"Really?" Her interest was piqued.

"Yeah. It was along this rocky beach near our house in Marina del Rey." He paused for a moment, remembering. "I used to ride my bike down to the beach and look for dead seagulls and other things." The change of subject seemed to calm him somewhat, and had gotten his mind off the disturbing memory loss.

"Animal corpses? Really, Gris?" She couldn't help but make a disgusted face; it was a good thing he wasn't looking at her.

"I used to perform autopsies on them," he told her, sounding somewhat self-conscious. "I wanted to know what was going on inside, and what might have caused their deaths."

"Sounds messy. I hope you didn't do these autopsies bare-handed…yuck!"

A burst of laughter escaped him. It seemed completely out of place in the desolate mineshaft, but to Sara it was a wonderful, welcome sound. "Actually, most of the time I ended up wearing my mother's rubber dishwashing gloves," he explained.

Sara giggled a little at that image.

"Yeah, I spent a lot of time at the beach," he went on. "I was pushing my bike over the dunes and I saw this rocky outcropping in the distance. I went over to check it out, and it was this little cave. It didn't look like anyone had been inside for a while. And, of course, being about ten, I just had to go in and explore."

"What was inside?" she asked, getting pulled into his reminisces.

"Not much—dirt, dust, rocks, lots of spider webs. But I thought it was cool. I would go in there a lot and play, or read by flashlight, or look for interesting insects to collect."

"Wow, this is really unusual, Grissom."

"What, that I dissected dead animals and hung out in a cave?"

"No, that you're actually sharing personal stories with me," she replied, obvious contentment in her voice.

"Oh. Well…" He struggled with the words for a moment. "I don't know. It just felt right telling you this stuff."

She smiled before returning to the previous subject. "So, what did your mom and dad think about your…hobbies?"

"Well, my mother was great," he began. "She always supported whatever I was interested in. She even let me bring my insect specimens into the house, even though she _hated_ bugs. I would get books from the library and try to identify the different species."

"And your dad?"

Her tone had been casually curious, but she felt him stiffen, and she knew she had asked the wrong question. Grissom didn't talk about his parents much, but Sara knew she had _never_ heard him even mention his father. She ran her hand reassuringly up and down his left arm, letting him know it was okay, and that he didn't have to say anything more.

For several long minutes, he didn't. Just their breathing broke the heavy silence in the air. Finally, Grissom cleared his throat, and said, "I don't know much about _your_ childhood, Sara. Just that you grew up in California somewhere, and that you have at least one brother. I remember you telling me that you found drugs in his bedroom once."

Sara was speechless for a second, amazed that Grissom had recalled that one detail about her brother. She had mentioned it after a case when they were in the locker room. _Maybe he 'records' everything _I_ say, too,_ she realized.

Finding her voice again, she said, "Um, yeah, I grew up on a small island called Tamales Bay. Most people have never even heard of it. My folks owned a bed and breakfast. Being raised there was fine, I guess. I felt a little sheltered and cut off from things—where we lived was pretty far off the beaten path—but it was nice there. Sometimes I still miss the ocean and the beaches, especially here in Vegas."

Grissom nodded, glad the spotlight was off him for the moment. "What kind of stuff did you like to do as a kid?"

"You know, the usual," she told him. "I loved the beach, like you. I was a fair swimmer. I was a bit of a tomboy, though. I liked to play sports and climb trees. I loved reading, of course, and read everything I could get my hands on."

"Sounds like an all-American childhood," he commented.

"Very few things are actually what they seem, Grissom," she responded enigmatically. But, after a moment, she went on, "I remember one summer—I was maybe eleven—a couple of my cousins were visiting. My mother complained that someone had stolen a bunch of chocolate chip cookies from the cookie jar. It was one of those old-fashioned jars, made of thick green glass. There was a fingerprint on the lid, so one of my cousins and I became 'detectives.' We fingerprinted my brother and the others using ink pads and paper." She stopped for a minute, grinning broadly. "We made a _huge_ mess and my mother was _furious_. But, eventually, we matched the print to my little cousin, Adam, and he cracked under the pressure and finally confessed. That was great."

"Already following the evidence even as a child, huh, Sara?"

"I guess I was," she replied. "We all had a great time that summer. We even formed a little 'detective agency' to solve crimes in the neighborhood. Kind of like the kids in the _Encyclopedia Brown_ books. Did you ever read those, Gris?"

"I think I may have read one or two of them," he replied.

"Great books. I read every single one when I was a kid. I loved trying to solve the mystery before peeking at the answer in the back of the book." After a moment of recollection, she added, "But that summer was a lot of fun. We even got a few 'cases' to investigate. Some were the usual neighborhood kids' stuff—doll-nappings, lost dogs. Stuff like that. But we had one 'case' that was very interesting."

"What was it?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"This little boy from down the block came by one day and wanted to 'hire' us," she began. "He said someone had stolen his piggy bank from the shelf in his closet. We 'investigated,' but couldn't find any evidence that would lead to the thief."

"You know there's always a clue, Sara," Grissom commented with a sly grin.

She couldn't see his face, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "Well, I didn't necessarily know that then, Grissom, but I figured the perpetrator must have left _some_ sign that would give him away. At least that's how it always seemed to work in the _Encyclopedia Brown_ stories."

"So, did you find something?"

"Eventually, yes," she said. There was a long pause, making him think that she might not elaborate, before she decided to end the suspense. "While I was looking in the little boy's closet, I smelled something sweet and very familiar. My curiosity awoken, I asked him what he had kept in his piggy bank. He said 'coins,' but I was still suspicious and I asked him what kind of coins. He said 'golden ones.' Looking around the closet some more, I found a tiny piece of gold foil wrapping on the floor. You know the kind they use to wrap _chocolate_ coins?"

She waited for Grissom to acknowledge that with a nod that she felt against her shoulder. Then she went on, "So I asked the little boy if the coins in his bank were chocolate coins, and he said they were. After that it was very simple. We just took a careful look at the members of his family—the only ones who had had access to his closet—and we noticed that his older brother had some stains on his face and chin. Upon closer inspection, I proved that it was chocolate, and so the culprit was found. Faced with the evidence, the kid's brother confessed, and so ended the 'Case of the Chocolate Coins.' What do you think, Grissom?"

"That was nice work, Sara—for an amateur at least."

She couldn't see his face, but she could hear the grin in his voice. "Give me a break, Grissom, I was only eleven."

"Well, when _I_ was eleven, I helped the local police solve the mystery of why so many opossums were dying in the area."

"Really? Tell me more."

"Okay," he began eagerly. "One morning I was walking along the beach like always, and I noticed the bodies of three young opossums…"

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Jim Brass stood toe-to-toe with the man in the well-tailored suit. Arms crossed in front of him, the police captain growled, "Tell me again why you're not doing anything to get my people out of there."

"The district engineer and the geologists haven't ruled the area safe yet," the man answered, sounding decidedly anxious.

"And what are they waiting for?"

The other man swallowed. "I already told you, Captain Brass, the mine has to be deemed safe enough for any rescue attempt, and more importantly, for the heavy equipment to be brought in."

Brass looked behind the assistant engineer, and took in the row of three steam shovels, standing there idly. The operators mulled around, waiting for permission to start digging. Then, the homicide detective's gaze swung to the mine shaft, and the pile of rubble where the entrance had been. He released a tense breath. "Your guys calculated how much air would be in the collapsed mine, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what did they come up with?"

"I told you before, Captain."

"I know that, Mr. Porter," he said, straining to keep his patience. "But please, just humor me."

The nervous man glanced upward before reminding Brass of the number. "They calculated approximately twelve hours of breathable air would be trapped inside the main passage of the mine."

"Right." Brass made a show of looking at his watch, even though he was very aware of what time it was. "And Grissom and Sara have already been in there for over six hours. So, what exactly are your engineers and geologists waiting for?" he asked rhetorically, his volume rising in growing anger. "For it to be too late so that all they're going to have to pull out of there are two dead bodies?"

Porter cringed back from the captain's rage. "I'm sure that's not what Mr. Lester wants to happen."

"Then let him do something about it."

"I'm sure he wants to, Captain Brass, but he just…can't. He's discussing the options with Professor Hess, the head geologist at Western LVU, as we speak. They've been working on this since the investigators became trapped, I assure you."

"Well, they had better find a way," Brass began. His voice was lower now, but laced with unmistakable menace. "Because I'm giving you and Lester and the rest of your office one more hour. After that, I'm gonna get some of _my_ men and we're gonna go at it ourselves—with picks and shovels and our bare hands, if we have to—and get them out of there."

Porter checked his watch, making note of the new deadline, then looked back into Brass's determined eyes. "I understand, sir."

Hoping he made his point, but also meaning every word of it, Brass walked over to where Nick Stokes leaned impatiently against his blue Denali. Catherine Willows was nearby, pacing restlessly and throwing worried gazes in the direction of the collapsed mine shaft.

As the police captain approached, Nick pushed off the SUV and stood up straight. "What'd he have to say?" the CSI asked.

"They're still waiting on word from the district engineer and head geologist," Brass reported in frustration. "They won't do anything until they hear."

"I can't believe there's all this heavy equipment here, and these guys are just sitting on their hands," Nick huffed. "Grissom and Sara are trapped in there, and they could be hurt or unconscious or worse!"

"I'm with you on this, Nick," Brass replied, trying to keep the other man calm. "But remember, we don't know exactly where they are inside there. It could be dangerous to just burst in with those earthmovers. We've got to make sure we do this carefully…and right."

Catherine stopped moving and came to stand near the men, biting her thumbnail; she didn't seem to share Jim's optimistic view of the situation. "We have to get them out of there, Jim," she said, understanding his words, but also sharing his impatience.

"I know," he answered. "I told that guy, Porter, that I was giving him one more hour before we start digging ourselves."

"Okay," Catherine said reluctantly, even though she didn't like the idea of waiting even longer.

"Yeah, I guess we can wait a _little_ longer," Nick grudgingly agreed. "But I don't like it."

"I don't either, Nicky," Jim admitted. "But we have to give the engineers one more chance. It really will be much easier to find Grissom and Sara with their help and equipment." He released a long breath. "Are you guys sure we can't use one of your infrared gizmos to find out where Grissom and Sara are in there?"

Nick shook his head. "Not unless you can get us a police chopper so we can fly over the mine. That's the only way our 'gizmo' can get a proper reading of that large an area."

"I'll give it a try," Brass told them. "Unfortunately, two trapped CSIs might not rate high enough on the sheriff's list to give us the chopper." He looked around. "Isn't someone missing from our little team?"

"Warrick had to leave," Catherine explained. "He's got a case in Henderson. Dayshift was swamped, and they needed one of us. He'll be back as soon as he can. He didn't want to leave."

Brass nodded, and stood there, staring at the mine shaft and silently praying for the safety of their friends.

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Grissom and Sara had stopped talking a while ago. Now they just sat there silently, their breathing filling the space, sounding much more labored and raspy than before. Sara had been pleasantly surprised at the amount of personal information Grissom had shared with her, but conversing for as long as they had probably hadn't been the best idea under their current circumstances. Sara was sure that talking used up a lot more oxygen than sitting there quietly, and she could feel the difference as she inhaled and exhaled

Also, her already dry throat now burned horribly with thirst, and she realized that all the talking had only exacerbated their situation. She knew Grissom must be feeling it, too, and she was about to pull out the bottle of water when, as if on cue, Grissom began to cough.

"Grissom?" she said, feeling the spasms wracking his chest. "Are you all right?"

He continued coughing.

"Grissom?"

It became obvious that he couldn't answer her, and she moved quickly, nudging him gently. "Grissom, sit up for a minute." He remained slouched against her, hacking uncontrollably. "Come on, you've got to sit up." She guided him until his back was upright. Then she grabbed the water from her kit, opened the top, and handed it to him. "Drink some of this," she instructed.

He took a sip, trying not to choke as he kept coughing. Finally, he got his rebellious lungs to calm enough so that he could swallow several mouthfuls of the water. Then he passed it back to Sara.

"Thanks," he rasped. He closed his eyes tightly, and covered them with his good hand. His head and injured arm had pounded along with each cough that had cut through him; the hacking had stopped, but the pain remained, throbbing angrily. He tried to breathe deeply to quiet his still-queasy stomach, but the hot, stale air just made him want to start coughing again.

"Are you all right?" Sara asked, worriedly from behind him. "Do you feel like you might throw up again?"

Grissom shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Good," Sara said, sounding a little relieved. She held the bottle of water to her lips and took a long swallow, finally allowing herself to have some. Her parched mouth and throat sucked up the liquid instantly, like a sponge. She wanted more, but didn't take another drink. Instead, she carefully recapped the bottle and placed it back into her kit, noting with some trepidation that it was only half-full now. _I hope they come to get us soon,_ she said to herself.

After squaring the water away, she leaned back again, placing a hand on Grissom's shoulder, inviting him to do the same. They reclined into their previous positions, moving closely together in spite of the continually growing heat.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"All right, that's it," Brass said suddenly. It had been nearly fifty minutes since he had given the assistant engineer, Porter, his deadline, and he simply couldn't stand still for another second. "We're not waiting any longer." He walked past Nick and Catherine on his way to the two police cars parked behind their Denalis. "We're going to get them out," he told the CSIs as he continued to the uniformed officer on the right. "Get your tools together, and I'll be right with you."

Nick and Catherine nodded, and moved to the rear of their SUV.

Jim motioned to the other cop, and the trio gathered in front of one of the police cars. "We're going to try to get inside that mine and get our guys out," he informed them. "I need you to radio for fire rescue and the paramedics. And then grab some shovels or whatever you can find to help us dig."

"You got it, Captain," one of the officers replied, his partner nodding along. Then the first guy grabbed the handset of his car's radio and started putting in the calls.

As Jim was walking back to the CSIs, he noticed a man in a hardhat approaching. He introduced himself as Bob Martin, the foreman of the nearby construction site.

"Is everything squared away over there, Mr. Martin?" Nick asked.

"Yes. We still don't know what caused the explosion, but it looks like it was just an accident. The investigators who came haven't found any evidence of foul play." He took a breath, before adding, "I still think it was a miracle that no one was hurt. I guess we're just lucky that the explosion happened so early in the morning when most of my guys hadn't even reported yet. I never dreamed that an explosion at my site, over a mile away, could cause such damage out here." He looked at the others solemnly for a moment. "How are your people doing? Any progress in getting them out?"

"I'm afraid not," Jim answered.

"How many are trapped in there?"

"Two."

Martin shook his head. "I can't believe they haven't tried to reach them yet," he commented.

"Well, the district engineer has been holding us up," Brass explained. "But we're about to take matters into our own hands. "We're just gonna grab some shovels and start digging."

"What about those earth movers there?" Martin asked, indicating the large machinery to their left.

"I don't know," Brass admitted. "It's up to the engineer."

The foreman paused thoughtfully. "We have steam shovels and bulldozers over at my site, just sitting there, idle. I could have my guys bring them in to help you."

"I appreciate that, Bob," Brass told him, "but it's a matter of jurisdiction and insurance. I wouldn't want you or your company to get into trouble."

"I understand," Martin replied. "But the offer still stands, in case you change your mind."

"Thank you, Bob," Brass offered before turning to Nick and Catherine. Nick handed him a shovel, and the police captain announced, "Let's go."

"Captain Brass," Martin called, stopping Jim in his tracks. "I've got a whole construction site full of guys just standing around. We've got shovels, and even pick axes. Let us help. Consider my whole operation at your disposal."

"Well, thanks again, Bob," Brass replied with a tight grin. "We'll definitely take you up on _that_ offer."

"No problem, Captain," Martin said back. He hurried off the way he had come to round up his workers.

At that moment, Warrick pulled up in his Denali, coming to a hard stop next to Nick and Catherine's car. He swung down from the front seat and stepped quickly over to the others. "What's goin' down?" he asked. "Any word on Sara and Gris?"

"We decided to get them out ourselves," Nick informed him, tapping the handle of his shovel against his palm. "We've waited long enough."

"Well, all right!" Warrick agreed with grim enthusiasm. He opened the back of his SUV to pull out a shovel. "Don't start the party without me."

The very anxious assistant engineer hung up his cell phone and turned around as he heard footsteps approaching. Captain Brass was leading a determined group of people holding shovels and picks; Porter felt a bit like Frankenstein being surrounded by the angry villagers brandishing pitchforks and torches. He swallowed hard and held his hands up in surrender as the others reached him. "I just got off the phone with Mr. Lester," he stammered as the small crowd came to a stop in front of him; he held up his cell phone as evidence of his words. "And he's on his way here with Professor Hess. They said you could start the rescue operation."

The crowd seemed to thaw at that information—their harsh edges softening somewhat. Porter felt a little better, until he had to tell them the rest of the news. "But…" he began, cringing inwardly as he felt the emotions of the group shift back to anger. "…he gave a permanent 'no' to using any machinery. With not knowing where your people are, it's simply too dangerous. Sorry."

Brass wanted to lash out at the man, but he realized that he and the district engineer were probably right—it would be safer for Grissom and Sara if they broke through manually.

"Let us know when Lester and Hess arrive," Brass said. Then he turned to his group. "Let's get at it, guys."

Catherine, Nick, Warrick, and the two uniformed officers joined Brass at different points around the collapsed mine shaft. "All right, people," he called, signaling everyone to begin, "let's get them out."

Pings, scrapes, and ragged breathing filled the desert air as Brass and the others tried to carve out a path to their friends, praying all the while that they would be in time.

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Sara put a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her coughs; she didn't want to wake Grissom. He had fallen asleep again a few minutes earlier, and she was going to just let him be. Listening to his shallow, uneven breathing, she realized it probably wasn't the best choice—for a lot of reasons. But she also knew that sleep was his body's natural defense against the shock and trauma, and she couldn't bear to disturb him.

She told herself that she would wake him in an hour or two and he'd be fine. But, the condition of the air in the mine had deteriorated, and getting enough oxygen into her lungs to remain alert and aware was becoming nearly impossible. That, coupled with the still-intensifying heat, made Sara fear that she wouldn't be able to stay awake so she could watch over Grissom and wake him when she should. Sweat was pouring off both of them, dehydrating them further, and Grissom's shirt was sopping, but she still held him closely against her as he slept.

Despite fighting the incredible drowsiness as hard as she could, Sara felt herself slipping into a semi-conscious doze. Suddenly, Grissom groaned in his sleep, and Sara's head snapped back up. He groaned again and she felt his body tense. "Shh, it's all right," she reassured him. "I'm right here, Grissom, I'm right here. Shh…" As she soothed him with her soft words, she ran her fingers up and down his left arm. She even chanced stroking his back—_very_ carefully.

Her touches didn't seem to hurt him, but instead seemed to relax him, allowing him to slip fully back into a deep slumber. He shifted, burrowing even closer to her, so that the side of his face, rather than the back of his head, now rested against her chest.

Once Grissom was settled again, Sara felt a little more awake, but she didn't think it would last. She rested her cheek on the top of his head. His hair was still gritty, and she could smell earth, the tang of salt, and even the slight coppery odor of blood. But, underneath it all, she could still make out the scent of his shampoo. It was clean, fresh,…ordinary. The faint soapy scent made Sara think back to whenever this long, trying day had begun for him. She imagined Grissom in his shower, lathering up his hair just like any other night before he headed off to work.

For some reason, this image of complete 'normalcy' brought the prick of tears to Sara's eyes. Would Grissom ever be able to do such a commonplace activity again? Would she?

She placed a gentle kiss within his damp curls, tasting salt on her lips, and trying to keep the tears welling in her eyes from falling. _Where was everyone?_ her exhausted mind worried. _Where were Brass and the rest of their team? Why hadn't anyone tried to get to them yet?_ She tried not to dwell on it, tried to keep being optimistic, but she had to admit it was becoming more and more difficult.

_What if no one came?_ She shook her head, attempting to physically rid her mind of that horrifying thought. She was able to push it away, but it still remained in the recesses of her consciousness. _Too bad our brains aren't like an Etch-a-Sketch,_ she thought, becoming suddenly giddy. _Then we could just give our heads a good shake and everything we didn't want to think about would completely disappear._ The picture that simile put in her mind made her want to laugh. _If our brains _were_ like an Etch-a-Sketch, I know which way I'd twist Grissom's dials!_ she added silently with a touch of glee, her tears forgotten.

Then she really _did_ start to laugh, but tried to do it quietly so she wouldn't bother the currently sleeping object of her thoughts. But her silent amusement grew, causing her to shudder more violently, shaking Grissom against her. She really didn't want to wake him, so she slowly got herself under control again. Once her soundless guffaws had faded away, Sara definitely felt _much_ more alert and ready to watch over Grissom. Her chest hurt a bit from getting even less precious oxygen during her bout with the giggles, but it had no effect on the smile that still lingered on her lips.

As she sat there in the quiet darkness, she thought she heard a new noise in the distance. It was far away and muffled, but it resembled the 'ping, ping' of metal on rock. For a second, Sara thought she might be having an auditory hallucination, but she listened more carefully, and she could swear the sounds were real. She knew the clamor signaled the others coming to get them.

This revelation further increased her newfound energy, and in spite of the continuing physical discomfort of the mine, she felt better than she had since they had become trapped. "They're coming, Grissom," she assured her oblivious companion. "They're finally coming. We're going to be all right."

**To Be Continued…**


	5. Found

**A/N: I'm sorry for the delay, but here's the final chapter! I know it's a long one, but I hope it's worth the time you all spend reading it. I realize I'm repeating myself, but I have to thank some folks one more time: to all of you who have been reading this fic and have left reviews, you have no idea how much it means to me every time I see your kind and supportive words. And I'm especially grateful to those of you out there who have reviewed multiple times. I truly, truly appreciate it! And, of course, to my wonderful and amazing beta, Grissom: once again, this fic wouldn't exist without your help, comments, and ideas. You've brought so many smiles to my face. Thanks, Gris! And now, onto chapter 5! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 5: Found**

Sara floated weightlessly in the darkness. She was enjoying the feeling, until she suddenly realized that she was asleep. Forcing her heavy-lidded eyes to open, she shook herself completely awake.

The first thing she noticed was that the digging sounds had become much louder and more constant. The mine seemed to vibrate and shake each time someone on the outside made another dent in the rocky wall of the cave.

Sara felt Grissom lying heavily against her, seemingly unaware of the ongoing rescue attempt. "You hear that, Gris?" she asked him, her voice cracking unexpectedly. "They're getting closer." She couldn't believe how raspy she sounded. She coughed once, and then reached for the bottle of water in her kit. After taking a swallow, she settled back, looking straight ahead, toward the front of the mine shaft

She thought she saw something, and squinted, trying to make it out. It looked like a faint stream of light coming through a small opening where the entrance to the mine had been. Sara sat up straighter and rubbed her eyes before staring again toward the fuzzy blur of brightness. She could tell now that there was definitely _something_ there. Twisting slightly and reaching for the flashlight, she felt Grissom's full weight leaning against her shoulder and side. _He's_ really_ out of it,_ she thought absently, focusing on finding out what she was seeing.

Turning on the light and aiming it in the direction of the former mine entrance, Sara could clearly see a small opening in the wall of rock and dirt. She saw some sort of tool come through the aperture as the rescuer tried to pry loose more rocks. She was very happy to discover that progress had been made, and that whoever was outside was almost through.

Sara moved her light around, searching for the source of the rest of the banging. She noticed that several spots on the cave walls were reverberating in time to each jolt from outside. Light showers of dust and pebbles were also being knocked loose by the vibrations, and Sara felt the debris falling on her head and shoulders. She shook and brushed it off the best she could, then set the flashlight on the ground with the beam toward the front of the mine. She hoped whoever was digging would see it and realize where they were.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Nick and Brass continued to work on the front of the mine, painstakingly removing each stone and chunk of wood. "Damn!" Nick swore. "This isn't working! Every time I pry a rock out, three more fall back in its place."

"I think we're all having the same problem, Nicky," Brass replied, winded. "We just have to keep at it." He attacked the next stone in his path after taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief.

Finally, about a half-hour later, Nick had made some progress. He had carved out a nearly circular opening at about eye level. It was large enough for him to look through, and he leaned in, hoping to catch a glimpse of something promising. He saw the glow of a flashlight near the back wall of the passage. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside, Nick could make out two figures next to the light. "I think I see them, Brass," he announced excitedly to his digging partner. Then he cupped his hands around the hole and yelled loudly, "Grissom! Sara! Can you hear me?" When he got no immediate response, he tried again, "Grissom! Sara!"

Sara's head snapped up as she heard her name being called. She hadn't been fully asleep, but she had been drifting off again. She listened to be sure she wasn't imagining the voice, until she heard their names shouted one more time. Smiling in recognition, she yelled back, "We're in here, Nick!"

"Sara?"

"It's me! We're back against the wall!" She lifted the flashlight and waved the beam around to make their location more visible.

"I see your light!" Nick confirmed. "Are you two all right?"

"I'm fine, but Grissom's hurt! We need to get him out of here!"

"We're working on it, Sara!" Nick assured her. "It shouldn't be too much longer! Try to hang in there!"

"Okay!" she shouted back. Then she added, "It's great to hear your voice, Nick!"

"Yours, too!" He turned to Brass. "We've got to get in there, Jim. If Grissom's hurt badly…" He left the rest unspoken, but Brass understood.

"I know, Nick," the captain agreed solemnly. "Let's pick up the pace then, shall we?"

Nick nodded and redoubled his efforts, taking his hammer and chisel to another chunk of stone.

Jim stopped two firefighters as they walked behind him. "Can we get some help over here, fellas?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," one of them answered. "We were just heading to the truck to get some more pry bars. Then we'll join you in this area."

"Thanks, guys," Jim replied.

Once the firefighters returned, they went to work with Brass and Nick, steadily increasing the size of the opening into the mine.

Inside, Sara was smiling to herself at the latest turn of events. She could hear Nick and the others working at the front of the mine, and she watched as the hole slowly grew larger. But then, Sara's face fell as it suddenly dawned on her that all the noise and shouting hadn't roused Grissom at all. If he hadn't been woken up, he should at least have stirred from all the disturbances. She could feel him breathing against her, his chest moving in and out, but she knew something must be wrong.

Her anxiety growing, she grabbed his shoulder and jostled him. "Grissom? Grissom, wake up." Nothing happened, so she sat up straight, took a hold of _both_ his shoulders and shook him harder. "Grissom! You need to wake up!"

She paused in shaking him, and his head lolled forward; he remained completely unresponsive.

Her heartbeat and breathing quickening, Sara shifted Grissom, lowering him carefully to the ground, making sure she placed his head down gently. But then, all her tenderness evaporated, and she shook him as violently as she dared, yelling his name. "Grissom! Come on, Grissom!" She grabbed both sides of his shirt for a better handhold, and continued to shake him. It made no difference—he didn't wake up.

Standing near the opening, Nick heard Sara repeatedly screaming Grissom's name. "Sara?" he called to her. "Sara, what's going on?"

She didn't answer, and Nick yelled her name one more time. He was tempted to tear through the rest of the rock with his bare hands to get to his friends, but he reined in that impulse and just waited.

Sara didn't know what to do next. She remembered what she knew about concussions, and how serious it could be if the person couldn't be awakened. A voice in her head kept commanding her, _Wake him! You've got to get him to wake up! Now!_ Powerless to ignore the silent imperative, she quickly became overwhelmed by panic. Blinded by fear and desperation, she wasn't consciously aware of what she was doing as she began tugging mercilessly on Grissom's injured arm. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped the pain would rouse him. Unsuccessful, Sara tried another pain stimulus, one that she only vaguely recalled seeing on some medical show: she dug her knuckles into his sternum, dragging them harshly up and down, trying to get a response from him.

She went back to shaking him, pulling on his arms and moving his head from side to side, screaming his name, trying everything she could think of to wake him up. She raised her right hand, open-palmed, preparing to let it fly toward his face. Suddenly realizing what she was about to do, she held her arm frozen in midair, her whole body trembling. _Oh, God, I was going to slap him,_ she told herself shakily, barely believing it. The imagined sound of her palm meeting his cheek made her feel sick, and she regained some level of control over her thoughts and actions. She slowly lowered her hand, still not fully comprehending what she had been doing to him, but finding herself unable to hurt him any more.

She kneeled there for a moment, her chest heaving, feeling light-headed as her breath continued to come hard and fast. "I'm sorry, Grissom," she managed amid labored exhalations. Flopping back into a sitting position, Sara put her head between her knees, trying to slow her breathing and fight off the dizziness.

Finally raising her eyes, she looked at Grissom's unmoving form. The worry and guilt weighed down on her, making her feel hopeless despite the impending rescue. Still desperately needing a sign from him, she pleaded quietly, "Grissom, don't do this to me. Please…"

Then a concerned voice cut through the melancholy hanging heavily around her. Nick had heard the eerie quiet from inside, and called to her again through the cave opening, "What's going on, Sara? What's wrong?"

She had to take a moment for the words to register, and then gather enough air into her lungs so her answer would carry all the way to the front of the mine. "It's Grissom! I can't wake him up, Nicky! He was fine before, we were talking, but then he fell asleep! I think he's got a concussion! He's in bad shape, and we've got to get him out of here _now_!"

"I hear you, Sara! We're coming!"

"Do you need me to get up there and dig?" she asked shakily. "I could help from the inside!"

"No, it's okay!" Nick assured her, hearing the quiver in her voice. "You stay with Gris! We'll get some more help out here!"

"Hurry, Nick. Please," she said, much more softly, but the CSI outside heard her clearly.

"We'll be right there, Sara! I promise!" He stepped back from the ragged hole in the mine and glanced quickly at all the other huffing figures digging away. "We need some more help over here, guys!" he shouted. Immediately, three men, including Warrick, ran over to join Nick, Brass, and the others working at the front of the mine.

Sara shifted closer to Grissom, so she could touch him. Her fingers drifted to the top of his forehead, settling where skin met curls. Gentle as a whisper, she drew her fingers along his hairline and down the side of his face; she continued to his chin, where she softly scrubbed a finger through the scruff of his beard.

Dropping her arm, she picked up his left hand in her right. She squeezed imploringly, hoping for a reaction from him—_any_ reaction; she got none. Sighing deeply, she said, "Come on, Gris, you've got to give me something here." She held his limp hand in hers, still feeling horrible about her previous loss of control. "I'm so sorry about what I did before. Please hang on for me. Please." She sat there, intently staring at the rhythmic movement of his chest, making sure she could see the rise of fall of each breath.

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Nick stepped back for a moment, catching his breath, feeling satisfied with the progress they had made. The opening was a foot off the ground, roughly circular with a diameter of about eighteen inches—almost large enough for a person to duck through. _Just a few more rocks,_ Nick thought, lifting his shovel again.

Before the dark-haired CSI could even make contact with the wall of rubble again, he heard a loud rumble and felt the ground reverberating beneath his feet. The others working at the front of the mine stopped and looked around.

"What the hell was that?" Nick wondered warily.

They heard a commotion from the right side of the mine, and they all looked in that direction, afraid to dig further without knowing what was going on.

Bob Martin came around the corner, looking slightly alarmed. "One of the guys hit a support beam," he replied breathlessly. "Whole section of the shaft collapsed over there. You've got to get your people out of there _now_. The chain reaction could bring the rest of that roof down right on their heads."

Nick, Warrick, and Brass shared a grim glance before attacking the wall of rocks again, more determined than ever to break through.

At the first sign of major vibration inside the mine, Sara had thrown herself awkwardly on top of Grissom's prone figure. Her effort to protect him from the falling debris seemed to have worked. Although she was certain that he had gotten hit with something, Sara had taken the brunt of the dirt and rocks coming down from the ceiling. When the initial rumbling stopped, she raised herself off Grissom and shook the rubble from her back. She had gotten a little more banged-up, but didn't seem seriously injured.

After the dust had settled, Sara could see that another section of the mine had collapsed, and she felt instantly anxious. "Nick, what's going on?" she shouted toward the opening at the front of the mine. The hole looked much larger now, and she hoped it had become large _enough_.

"We're coming, Sara! Just hold on!" he replied.

"Yeah, we'll be right in there, girl!" Warrick added.

"Warrick, is that you?"

"Of course it's me!" he assured her. "You gotta know I wouldn't miss all this fun!"

Despite the chaos and danger around her and Grissom, Sara felt even more confident knowing that another one of her team members was out there, working to rescue them.

Another shock wave undulated through the mine, deeper and longer than the last one. The men struggling to increase the passageway realized it was now or never. Nick and Warrick went at it with their bare hands, wrenching loose the last necessary chunks of stone. "Okay, War, I think that's enough!" Nick cried over the din. "I'm going in!"

"Careful, man, it's a tight squeeze," Warrick told him, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Then he turned around, yelling, "Medics! We need medics over here!"

The two sets of EMTs who had been standing by moved up, maneuvering their gurneys through the desert sand, getting as close as they could to the mine entrance. They waited there, ready to act quickly.

Nick squeezed in through the not-quite-large-enough opening, feeling the rough edges scrape his back and shoulders. Once inside, he made his way to the rear of the passage, dodging what was falling from above him, and staggering somewhat drunkenly as the ground bucked beneath his feet.

He caught sight of the silhouettes of his fellow CSIs through the thick dust choking the air. Once he reached them, he crouched down, lowering his head and encircling them with his arms, trying to offer them further safety from the harsh objects pouring down from above.

When the worst of the vibration had dissipated, Nick squeezed Sara's arm to get her attention. She looked up at him.

He placed a hand on the side of her face. "Are you okay?" he shouted over the rumbling.

He saw her nod in the dim light, and he mirrored her gesture, letting her know he understood. "Let's get him out of here!" he said, pointing down at Grissom, who still hadn't moved.

Sara nodded again.

Nick moved around near Grissom's head, reached down, and grabbed him under the arms. "Can you get his feet?"

"Yeah!" Sara lifted Grissom's legs. "Watch his right arm, Nick!" she warned. "It's broken!"

"You got it!"

They hefted their unconscious friend toward the newly-created exit. While trying not to trip on anything on the ground, Nick also attempted to minimize the jostling of Grissom's injured limb. It worried him immensely that Grissom felt like such dead weight in his arms. His boss and friend, the man he always wanted to impress, showed no signs of life. Nick knew he was still breathing, but also understood the extent of his injuries. He found himself afraid that all their efforts had been too late, but tried to tell himself that Grissom would be all right.

When they reached the brightly-lit opening, Nick was grateful to see Warrick there, peering in, waiting to help. He handed off Grissom to Warrick, making sure the taller man had a strong hold. "Got him?" Nick asked.

"Got him," Warrick replied, adjusting his arms for a tighter grip. He pulled the injured supervisor carefully through the tight opening, making certain Grissom's head was cradled securely against his abdomen.

As Warrick yanked Grissom's feet clear of the confines of the cave, one of the paramedics moved forward to catch them. Together, Warrick and the medic carried Grissom to one of the waiting stretchers and placed him on top as gently as they could. Then the EMT and his partner sped into action, strapping Grissom in and starting to check his vitals as they shuttled him to one of the ambulances.

Warrick watched Grissom go, suddenly realizing that he was shaking. He looked down at his arms, hardly believing what had just happened. He turned and met the equally worried eyes of Brass. It was obvious that neither of them had expected Grissom's condition to be so perilous. The unconscious man's appearance had shocked them both—there had been so much blood, and Grissom had looked deathly pale. The speed at which the medics had rushed off with him only added to their fears. Brass and Warrick stared off in the direction their friend had been taken, until they heard noises behind them, reminding them that the other injured member of their team was coming out. The two of them turned to see Nick helping Sara through the hole and back to the outside world. Warrick stepped closer to the little group, wanting to assist where he could.

The afternoon sunlight was so blinding that Sara couldn't even open her eyes at first. She had to keep them tightly shut, but the harsh light still burned and tears flowed from beneath her closed lids. Jim took her arm, preventing her from tripping as she emerged, stumbling, from the darkness.

Although the outside temperature was probably over a hundred degrees, the fresh air felt cool and wonderful to Sara after the stale, thick heat of the mine interior. She wanted to greedily gulp in lungfuls of the oxygen-rich air, but immediately began coughing.

Brass held her arm firmly, leaning her up against the side of the mineshaft. "You okay?" he asked with concern.

Sara nodded and tried to talk. "Grissom…" she managed between choking wheezes.

"Yeah, yeah, the paramedics have him," Jim assured her. "They're taking him to the ambulance right now."

"Go with him…" Sara said, before a new fit of hacking hit her.

"I think you'd better stay here," Jim replied soothingly. "You need to be taken care of yourself."

She attempted to open her eyes, squinting at him through the watery sheen. She had no breath left to argue, so she accepted Jim's suggestion.

Catherine came around the corner of the mine, walking rapidly toward her colleagues. The news that the two CSIs had been rescued had spread quickly to the area where Catherine had been working. She had rushed over to see how they were. Reaching Sara's side, Catherine assured herself that the younger woman was all right. Then she asked, "Where's Grissom?"

"He's already in the ambulance," Brass told her, pointing toward the vehicle that was readying to leave, its sirens blaring to life.

"Okay, I'm going to ride with Grissom to the hospital," she informed them as she hurried away to catch the ambulance in time. "I'll see you all there later." Before the others knew it, she was gone, the ambulance sweeping her and Grissom off to Desert Palm.

Brass wanted to move Sara away from the still unstable mine, so he took her arm and started leading her toward the second gurney. She nearly doubled over as another spasm of coughing overwhelmed her. Jim stopped next to her and gently rubbed her back. "Take it easy, Sara. Just try to take slow, deep breaths."

Nick had rushed to Sara's other side after Warrick had helped him climb out of the mine; he took hold of her elbow, offering even more support.

The paramedics had seen Sara's difficulty, and they came over to guide her to the remaining stretcher. They had her sit first, as they gave her a cursory examination; one of them listened to her chest. "All right, ma'am," the second medic told her. "We need you to lie down now, and we'll get you over to the hospital."

Nick and Brass followed the wheeled gurney to the back of the ambulance, then left Sara in the EMTs' care and jogged off toward their own vehicles. Warrick was waiting for them by his Denali; all three men climbed into the cars and the small, concerned caravan rushed off to Desert Palm Hospital.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Sara sat by the side of Grissom's bed, her chin and arm resting on the raised bedrail. She had been treated for a few hours, and then released, but she found herself unable to leave the hospital…and Grissom. The others had left after Sara had been sprung, once the doctors had assured them that both their friends would be fine. They had known Sara would be staying, and had left her to watch over Grissom.

Almost everything in the room where Sara sat was sterile, white, and lifeless. Grissom lay unmoving in his bed—white sheets, white blanket, white hospital-issued gown. His skin was ashen, and even the waterproof plaster on his freshly-cast right arm was a pale shade of ivory. The only splashes of color came from the patches of sandy brown in Grissom's hair and beard.

Sara knew, though, that if his eyes were open, the brilliant blue of his irises would provide all the revitalizing color the pallid hospital room would ever need. _Come on, Grissom, open your eyes. Open your eyes,_ she implored silently.

Nothing happened, and Sara blew out a weary breath and stood up, walking across the cramped room just to stretch her legs a little.

The doctors had said that Grissom would be fine. They just had to keep him twenty-four hours for observation. They had given him some pretty strong meds, but said he should awaken at any moment.

Sara had been waiting for over an hour, and he hadn't shown any signs of awareness yet. She stopped on his other side and stared down at the flexible tubing running into his left wrist. She absently rubbed her own arm in the same spot, where the nurse had pulled out her IV a while ago.

She and Grissom had received the same basic treatment—intravenous fluids to rehydrate them, oxygen, cleansing and bandaging of minor cuts and abrasions. Grissom had been the recipient of the added fun of x-rays, CAT scans, a cast for his broken right radius, and a dozen or so stitches to close the gash in his scalp.

Sara glanced at that wound now, expertly dressed. _The bandage is white, too,_ she noted with a tired sigh. She could see where the ER doctors had shaved a decent-sized section of Grissom's hair to treat the large laceration. _It's a shame to lose those curls,_ Sara thought. But then she couldn't help the broad smile that appeared on her face as she imagined Grissom's reaction to his involuntary 'haircut.' _He's gonna be _so_ mad,_ she said to herself, chuckling.

But then she grew serious as she continued to gaze at him. She carefully ran her fingers down the side of his face. "You _are_ gonna wake up for me, aren't you, Gris?" she asked out loud. Lifting her hand, she exhaled in frustration when she noticed there was still a fair amount of dried blood on his face. "They didn't clean you up very well, did they?" she commented rhetorically.

Looking down at her own arms and hands, she was reminded that she was still pretty dirty, too. She realized that nurses could only do so much with a washcloth and a basin of soapy water. She felt pretty grimy and covered with grit, and really needed a long, hot shower, a fresh set of clothes, and a decent meal. They had tried to feed her earlier, but hospital food was notoriously bad and not at all vegetarian-friendly. Despite the fact that her apartment would provide all the necessary comforts, Sara wasn't ready to leave the hospital yet—not until Grissom woke up and she could see that he was all right.

There was a small sink in the room, and Sara searched for something she could use to clean the blood off Grissom's face. When she spied the jar of cotton balls, she moved into action. She removed a couple of pieces of the fluffy cotton, and saturated them with warm water from the faucet. Squeezing out the excess wetness, she stepped back over to Grissom.

One of her hands carefully held his face steady, while the other went to work on the reddish smears. She rubbed gently at first, but realized she needed to create more friction to scrub off the dried flecks. She ended up getting most of the blood off his skin, but couldn't do much about what was still caked in his hair and beard.

Fairly satisfied, she used a paper towel from the dispenser above the sink to dry the water dripping down his face. As she tossed the towel into the trash, she heard muffled moans from the bed, and turned back around.

She watched Grissom slowly wake up on the bed. He opened his eyes, blinking as he tried to bring his current surroundings into focus. She stood next to him, and her face was the first thing he saw when the haze cleared. He smiled broadly at her, and she smiled back.

"Hey," he croaked, his voice cracking.

"Hey."

"This is nice."

"What's nice, Gris?"

"Waking up next to you again," he replied, his voice fading to a coarse whisper on the last word.

Her smile grew as she wondered whether it was Grissom talking or the drugs. _Did he even know what he was saying?_ "What are those wonderful drugs they're giving you, Gris, and where can I get some?" she teased.

"Huh?" he responded, perplexed.

"Never mind," Sara said, shaking her head, but keeping the grin on her face. Her fingers automatically moved forward, unable to resist diving into his tousled hair. "How do you feel?"

He seemed to consider her question for a long moment before coming back with, "Loopy."

She laughed. "I'll bet. It's those great drugs I was talking about."

Grissom nodded.

"Does anything hurt?" she asked, her concern apparent.

He had to pause for a moment again, to take stock of the current condition of his battered body. "My head's pounding a little," he told her, licking his dry lips. "Everything else is mostly…numb. I don't think I could get up just yet, but I feel okay, I guess."

His voice was harsh and raspy, the volume barely above a whisper. Sara lifted the pitcher that a nurse had dropped off a few minutes earlier, and filled a plastic cup with water. She made sure to plop in the provided straw, and held the cup near Grissom's chin. "Come on, drink some of this," she instructed. He lifted his head, and she helped support his neck with her free hand as he took the straw between his lips and began greedily slurping the cold liquid.

She had only poured a small amount into the cup, and he finished very quickly, the straw making its characteristic noises as he sucked more air than water. "Easy, easy," she said, gently pulling the cup away from him. "I'll get you some more." This time she filled the cup higher, and Grissom sipped the water more slowly. From her own experience, Sara knew that although the IV did a great job of rehydrating the body, it did nothing to relieve the terrible parched sensations in the mouth and throat.

"Better?" she asked when Grissom had emptied the second cup of water.

He nodded as he lowered his head back to the pillow. "Thanks, Sara." He cleared his throat, his voice sounding much stronger.

"You're welcome. Let me know if you want some more."

"I will." He shifted a bit, trying to find the most comfortable way to lie there.

Sara moved around to the other side of the bed, and sat in the chair, resuming her position from earlier. "Grissom?"

He looked toward her. "Yeah?"

"Do you remember…how you got hurt?" she probed tentatively. His memory loss was the thing worrying Sara the most. Although the doctors had assured her that it was a typical symptom of a concussion, she found Grissom's blankness on the events surrounding the accident to be quite scary. She was sure he was troubled about it, too, and that was why she had approached the subject warily.

She could tell he was trying hard to grasp the tenuous memories, but that he couldn't quite get a mental grip on them. "I don't…I just can't remember, Sara," he said, frustration creeping into his voice. "It's a huge blank."

"It's okay, Grissom," she began, hoping to reassure him. "The doctors said some memory loss is normal. It may take a while, but they said it would most likely all come back."

He looked at her wearily. "I know you've told me what happened—probably multiple times. The events stay in my head for a little while, but then they just seem to…slip away."

"It'll come back, Grissom," she promised, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I remember going to the mine with you. David took out the body. There was a…noise of some kind. A loud rumble. Then I remember waking up, and you helped me out from under the debris. In between, there's just…nothing."

"Do you remember what happened afterward?" she inquired quietly.

"Yeah, that's all pretty clear," he explained. "At least until I fell asleep that last time. I don't remember anything after that until I woke up here. I don't even know how we got out of the mine."

"Brass and the rest of the team rescued us."

One eyebrow rose skeptically. "By themselves?"

She chuckled. "No, it wasn't just the four of them digging. They had some help, but Nick was the first one to break through."

"Well, I'm glad our guys don't give up too easily."

"Me, too."

"Remind me to thank them properly when I get out of here," he said.

Grissom wasn't a man who normally gave such sentiments much thought, but he sounded so sincere that Sara promised herself she would help him keep his word. "I will," she assured him.

"And I should thank you, too," he added unexpectedly.

"Thank _me_? Why, Grissom?" She was truly puzzled.

"Because you…took care of things. I know I wasn't much help in there. I was pretty out of it."

"You were hurt, Grissom," she said gently. "There really wasn't anything you _could_ have done."

"I realize that," he began. "But you kept me awake and talking for as long as you could. And the whole time you made me feel…protected." His eyes searched out hers, and when blue locked on brown their gazes froze. "Thank you for that, Sara."

"You're welcome. I really tried to keep in control, but I have to admit, I _did_ panic a few times."

"I wasn't aware of it."

"Well, that's because I mostly panicked when you were unconscious or asleep," she admitted sheepishly.

"Really?"

"Yeah," she replied. "The first time was when I saw you buried under the pile of rubble. Then when you didn't remember what had happened. And I _really_ freaked out when I couldn't wake you."

He had continued staring deeply into her eyes, but now his brow knit in confusion.

"It was right before the rescue," she explained. "You were completely out of it; I tried everything but I couldn't get you to wake up." She averted her eyes, unable to stand the scrutiny of his intense gaze any longer. "You scared the hell out of me, Grissom."

"I'm sorry," he offered quietly. He awkwardly reached for her with his left hand. He had to stretch across his body, since Sara sat on his right, and the IV hindered his efforts.

Sara thought the gesture was sweet, but she didn't want him to aggravate his injuries, or accidentally pull out his IV. So she quickly reached toward him, stilling his hand against his chest. She gave it a brief squeeze, and flashed him a small smile. "It's all right, Grissom," she told him. "Be careful; you'll hurt yourself." She gently shifted his left arm back to his side. To make up for the loss of comforting physical contact that they both seemed to want, Sara settled her hand on his right arm, just above his cast.

Sara coughed, about to broach a risky subject. She knew Grissom might choose not to answer, and shut down the small opening he had given her into his emotions. "I guess that you probably feel a little…uneasy about the memory loss, don't you, Gris?"

He paused, considering his response. "It is a bit…disconcerting," he admitted. "Especially for someone like me."

"Like you?"

"Yeah, someone who…" He halted again while he tried to articulate what he wanted to say. "…prides himself on his mind being sharp, someone whose job _requires_ his mind to be sharp."

"The missing memories will come back, Gris. I'm sure of it. Just give it some time."

He nodded soundlessly, but she could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

There was silence for a few minutes; it was tense, but not entirely uncomfortable. Finally, Grissom broke the quiet. "I _do_ remember you thanking me for something, Sara," he told her.

He sounded honestly curious, but she thought there might be a hint of teasing underneath it; he might remember _exactly_ what she had told him earlier. She studied him, narrowing her eyes, and finally decided he was being truthful.

"Yeah, Grissom," she reminded. "I thanked you for saving my life. When the support beam collapsed over our heads, you pushed me out of the way. You saved me, but there wasn't enough time for you to get clear, too—that's how you got hurt. Do you remember any of this yet?"

"No, I still don't remember," he answered, sounding almost sad. "But I think now I'll be able to recall that you told me."

"That's an improvement at least," she said, smiling at him.

"I guess." He glanced away, choosing to stare at his fingers wiggling out of the front of his cast. "Look, Sara. I might not remember what happened when the mine collapsed, but I know…" He exhaled deeply before continuing, "I know that I'd never let anything hurt you. Not if I could help it."

She felt herself blush, the heat spreading over her cheeks. At the same time, tears came to her eyes, and she was glad Grissom still wasn't looking at her. She squeezed his arm, and then slid her fingers to his shoulder where they remained, resting comfortably.

The awkward silence lasted for a couple of minutes while they both composed themselves. Grissom finally spoke up, trying to break the tension by totally changing the subject, "So…so, uh, do you know when I can get out of here? Did the doctors say anything to you?"

She was able to look at him easily, now that they were talking about more trivial things. "They said you could go home tomorrow."

"Sounds good. I'm not a big fan of hospitals. Bad food, endless poking and prodding, early wake-up calls. I happen to be off tonight anyway." He grinned nervously, still attempting to lighten the mood. "How about you, Sara?" he asked her. "Did they spring you from this place yet?"

"Yeah, they let me go a couple of hours ago. But I…couldn't quite pull myself away until I made sure that a friend of mine was okay."

His expression changed to a genuine smile. "I'm sure he appreciates that. How are _you_ feeling?" he queried.

"Pretty good," she explained. "I'm tired, hungry, and I could seriously use a shower, but, besides that, everything seems fine."

"I'm glad you weren't hurt seriously." His grin took on a mischievous air as he added, "You should probably stay home from work tonight, and maybe take a few days off."

"Well, I'd have to ask my supervisor," she teased. "He can be…difficult."

"Don't you think he'd allow you the time off?"

"I _do_ have a lot of vacation time stored up," she responded. "So I'm sure he'd give me a couple of days off."

"He sounds like a reasonable man," Grissom replied, enjoying the light, joking banter.

"He can be reasonable and even…rather charming when he wants to be."

"So, he's an okay guy then?" His tone wavered uncertainly as he awaited her answer.

She nodded and smiled. "Yeah."

His own smile of relief and satisfaction reflected hers.

She glanced down, somewhat embarrassed, and began fidgeting with the sleeve of Grissom's hospital gown.

After a few minutes, she said, "Hey, Grissom?"

"What?"

She forced herself to meet his eyes again as she went on, "Do you remember what we were talking about in the mine?"

She watched as his brow furrowed and he appeared to be concentrating on the recollection. He looked confused as he repeated, "What we were talking about?"

Her eyes widened as concern washed over her face. "Yeah, after you won the word game. Don't you remember?"

"Word game?" he wondered.

_Oh, no,_ Sara thought, as the fingers of fear began tickling her mind. "Grissom, what are you saying?" she asked him shakily. "Now you don't remember _anything_? Just before you said you remembered everything else that had happened in the mine."

As she stared at him, waiting anxiously for his reply, his eyebrows rose, smoothing the creases on his forehead. The corners of his mouth turned up—subtly at first, and then more obviously—until he was grinning at her.

"What?" she asked suspiciously. Then she noticed the mischievous glint in his eyes, and her own narrowed in his direction. "You _do_ remember it, don't you?"

He gave her a little nod.

"Grissom!" she yelled in frustration. She was seized with the sudden urge to hurl something at his head, but nothing effective was in the vicinity. So she settled for smacking his arm, hard. "That's not nice! You scared me!" She hit him again, not realizing that she was abusing his broken limb.

"Ow!" he complained, but Sara could tell he was struggling not to laugh. "Take it easy, I'm an injured man!" It took him a minute to catch his breath as he attempted to choke back the laughter, which was mixed in with noticeable pain from his wounds.

"Grissom, I swear!" she huffed. _The man could be _so_ exasperating!_ "If you ever try anything like that again, I'll break your other arm!" Glaring sharply at him, she tried to hold her harsh expression, but it melted away into a bright grin after a few minutes. She swatted him once more, playfully this time and far away from his injured arm. "Ooh," Sara grunted, venting the last of her frustration.

"I'm sorry," Grissom surrendered, trying to sound serious. He raised his arms up in a gesture of peace.

Sara sat back down in the chair, and arched an eyebrow at him. "So you _do_ remember what we discussed in the mine." It wasn't really a question, but she was obviously waiting for an acknowledgement from him.

"Yes," he answered. "Your childhood version of _Encyclopedia Brown_, catching your cousin with his hand in the cookie jar, so the speak, and realizing that the boy down the lane pillaged his little brother's chocolate coins."

"Very good, Grissom."

"Well, I _am_ an investigator after all." A small smile snuck back onto his face.

"Yes, you are," she replied. She removed her gaze from his once again, staring instead at the blanket covering his chest, seemingly struggling with what she was going to say. Finally, she exhaled deeply and forced her eyes back to his expectant face. "So, I was wondering if maybe…you would like to…continue that conversation sometime?" She fought the urge to pull her eyes away again, and just looked at him, waiting.

"Do you mean," he began, his voice soft and serious, "like over breakfast?"

She nodded once, but remained silent, afraid that any sound she might make would shatter the delicate magic of the moment.

"I'd love to…have breakfast with you, Sara."

She allowed herself a satisfied grin, feeling like they were taking a step in the right direction at last.

Grissom turned away from her, his brow furrowing. For a second Sara feared he had changed his mind and was going to rescind his offer, but then he raised his fingers to his forehead, massaging gingerly.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I think so," he responded; his voice was noticeably weaker. "But I'm afraid those drugs are finally wearing off."

"Do you want me to call the doctor?" she inquired, suddenly concerned about him again.

He shook his head slowly, stopping when he was facing her. "No. I think maybe I just need some rest."

"Good idea," she agreed, noticing how exhausted he looked. With the talking and the fooling around they had done in the last few minutes, she had almost forgotten the extent of his injuries and the need for him to recover. She watched in amusement as he fought unsuccessfully to keep his suddenly heavy-lidded eyes open.

"You, too, Sara," he mumbled, nearly incoherently.

"Me, too, what, Grissom?" she asked softly, leaning forward so her lips were next to his ear.

"You, too, should get some sleep," he murmured. His voice was slurring and he didn't even bother to open his eyes.

"I will, I promise."

He managed to force one eye halfway-open as he added in a fading whisper, "The boss says it's okay to take a few days off, too."

"You got it." Sara knew he was just about asleep, and she sat there for a few minutes, just staring at him and listening as his breathing changed.

He looked so relaxed lying there. _And so…sweet,_ she added silently. It was hard to believe that they had been through such a trying ordeal. Sara's mind flashed back to the mine and everything that had gone on while they were trapped and during the rescue. She was glad the traumatic events were behind them now.

When she was certain that he was deeply asleep, she pushed herself up and started to leave. "We made it out of there, Grissom," she whispered to him. "Now what's next?"

The question was, of course, rhetorical, and her words went unheard by the slumbering entomologist; but Sara hoped recent events would at least start them moving in a positive direction.

Sighing, she couldn't resist reaching out one more time and running her fingertips down the side of his face. Moving her hand higher again, she entwined a finger in his curls, tugging affectionately. Then she rearranged her remaining digits and stroked them gently through his hair. "Sleep well, Grissom. I'll see you later." She finally turned away and walked out of his hospital room, a hopeful grin creeping onto her face.

**FADE OUT**


End file.
